


Small Changes

by SweetScentences



Series: Small Changes [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: (but no more than One Piece has to begin with), Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante Lives, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Language Headcanons, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, This is also kind of a Rosinante character exploration, rated for language and some violence, this fic is really self-indulgent and soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-01-24 13:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21339223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetScentences/pseuds/SweetScentences
Summary: Doflamingo and his crew don't touch the treasure chest Law is hidden in. A few other things change too.
Relationships: Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante & Trafalgar D. Water Law
Series: Small Changes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538314
Comments: 266
Kudos: 1042





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ComparedFever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComparedFever/gifts).

> This fic has been a combination of a labor of love and a hyper-fixation, but aren't all fics? This never would have gotten done without my beautiful friend and beta, ComparedFever. Thank you so much for agreeing to go through this monster of a fic, and for visiting me for Halloween. I love you, and I can't wait until we get another Chaotic Weekend to hang out.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this fic!!!

Rosinante had always imagined death would be painless. Not the act of dying, no. He knew his fate was going to be something bloody and cruel since his brother shot their father. But he figured death itself would be blank- as devoid of pain as it was of joy, if there was any consciousness after death. 

But Rosinante was conscious, and very much aware. Aware of the blackness of the eyelids he couldn’t open. Aware of a burning pain throughout his torso. Aware of the deep part of him that always hummed when he used his Devil Fruit. 

It was humming now. A heavy, persistent feeling, almost stronger than the pain. 

It ached to keep it up. Rosinante didn’t know why he did. He started to let it slip, only to remember in an instant. 

_ Law. _

Law needed to get away. 

_Had he already escaped_, Rosinante wondered. How long had he been drifting in this empty space. Was it seconds? Hours? Days? 

He had no way to know. 

What if, a horrible part of him whispered, in dying while using his Devil Fruit, he had stolen Law’s sound forever. 

Law had already lost too much. 

It didn’t matter that he had learned sign language, or at least enough to be insulting, when he thought Rosinante was mute. Rosinante had promised himself that Law wouldn’t lose anything else under his care. 

(He had wondered, then, if that was how Sengoku felt when he took Rosinante in.) 

He thought about the panic on Law’s face when he’d told him his plan. About the fact that he had put it there. Rosinante’s stomach rolled. His hands twitched. 

_ His hands twitched. _

Dead men didn’t move. 

Hope grew, uncertain and wild, in Rosinante’s chest. 

He took a deep, rattling breath, and tasted frost on the cold air. 

His eyes felt like they were welded shut. Rosinante forced them open. He’d always been a stubborn bastard. 

He was blinded for a moment, despite the dimness of the light. It took a long while for his eyes to adjust. He used that time to feel around. 

His fluffy coat was the only thing between him and the cold, hard ground. He was bare-chested, apart from bands of fabric wrapped tightly around his torso. He realized, when his eyes finally cleared and focused, that they were the remains of his shirt. 

He poked carefully at them, expecting to find agony where he’d been shot. There was pain, sharp and nearly blinding, but not as bad as he’d been expecting. 

Rosinante felt around, finding a wall behind him, and took a steadying breath before hauling himself into a sitting position. He dropped back against the wall, chest heaving, head spinning, and fighting the urge to vomit. 

It took a few minutes for him to gather himself enough to open his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them. 

He was in a cave, small and cramped, with blood stained snow spilling from the mouth of it. A distant part of Rosinante realized that it was probably his. 

But that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how he had gotten there. It didn’t matter who had saved him. It didn’t matter _why_. The only thing that mattered was making sure Law had gotten away. 

Law, who was collapsed next to him. 

Rosinante bit down the urge to shout, panic settling as quickly as it arrived when he saw Law’s body rattle with breath. But he was breathing too heavily, too _ quickly_, curled pitifully around himself half on Rosinante’s coat, and half on the cold ground. Rosinante rolled him onto his back as carefully as he could. Law didn’t stir. 

Rosinante’s heart caught in his throat. Law was the lightest sleeper he knew- plagued by paranoia and nightmares the moment he closed his eyes. 

His skin was flushed with fever, warm when Rosinante brushed a hand across his forehead. The bags under his eyes looked more like bruises. That, and the blood on Law’s hands came together to paint a picture Rosinante didn’t want to see. 

Law hadn’t escaped. 

He had heard everything that happened, and had dragged Rosinante’s dying body god knew how far to save his life. He had to have used the Devil Fruit he couldn’t control to do it. 

That eased and frightened Rosinante in equal measure. A week after he had first eaten his Devil Fruit, he lost control. He let go of the careful balance and ease the fruit demanded. He still wasn’t sure what happened, Sengoku had never told him, but he did know he hadn’t woken for two days. 

The Op-Op Fruit was known to exhaust it’s user. Rosinante had decided it was worth it- the risk of a coma _nothing _compared to keeping Law alive. But now, the absence of bright white patches the only thing proving that Law wasn’t still dying, he wasn’t so sure. 

With careful hands, Rosinante adjusted Law’s hat so it sat more snugly on his head. He rested back against the cave wall, and let his eyes fall closed. 

Doflamingo had tried to kill him. He was still alive. Doflamingo had tried to take Law, but he was still with Rosinante. 

He needed a plan to get them off Minion Island. To get them far, far away. Out of North Blue and Doflamingo’s reach. It wouldn’t be as simple as going to the Marines- Vergo had proven that, and Rosinante couldn’t imagine Law would be happy to wake up in the government’s care. 

Rosinante needed a plan. But first, he needed rest. He couldn’t keep them both alive if he was dead on his feet. 

✦✦✦

Rosinante didn’t know how long he slept, but when he woke the first thing he did was gather Law in his arms and drag them both to another cave. 

Doflamingo and his pirates would be looking for Rosinante’s body, if by any chance they’d discovered it gone. It was impressive how far Law had managed to drag them, but the trail of blood left behind wasn’t inconspicuous, even as it was being covered by fresh snow. 

Rosinante let himself rest for another day before sneaking down into the nearest populated town. He stole new clothes, food, and information. 

It was good to get a warm shirt on, to replace his makeshift bandages with real ones. Better still to not hear a single whisper of his disappearing ‘corpse’. 

As far as Rosinante could tell, Doflamingo hadn’t started hunting Law yet. They could make it out. 

Arranging their escape took longer than Rosinante cared for. Stealing enough makeup to hide the tattoos on his face and the worst of his bruises took time. But he needed to. If he didn’t, he would be too conspicuous when he slunk into town. 

He did this six times. He bought passage on a boat bound for East Blue twice, once further north, once all the way to Sabaody, and twice to South Blue. 

The smallest part of Rosinante was glad that Law was comatose. He never would have agreed to being bundled into a large, over the shoulder bag, for Rosinante to carry. 

It was easier that way for him to jump last minute onto a ship bound for West Blue. 

They were at the edge of North Blue when the ship stopped to restock, and Rosinante slipped off. In the morning he snuck on another ship headed in an entirely different direction. 

After that, Rosinante dyed his hair black. He was still paler than Law, but it would be easier to pass them off as blood related this way, if anyone saw them.

He repeated this shuffle three more times, over the course of a month. Law would wake sometimes, but was never lucid, only staring blankly at Rosinante as he tried to get him to eat and drink. His fever would break in brief spurts, but that only made Law’s sleep more fitful. He would twist painfully, scratching at the fading marks Amber Lead had left on him, and sobbing in the sloping language of Flevance that Rosinante had been trying to master. What he could understand was begging- desperate crying out for people Law had lost. Rosinante heard his own name more than once. 

Each time he did, Rosinante would take Law’s hands in one of his, the other running through Law’s hair as he tried to soothe him in his clumsy Flevean. Sometimes it calmed Law. Other times, it made him cry harder.

On the fourth ship Rosinante travelled openly with Law, spinning a story of his son falling ill in West Blue, and of their desperate need to return home to the South. Instead they stopped in East Blue, on a small island in a smaller village that Rosinante had never heard of. 

The passing of days brought more color to Law’s skin. His fever was the lowest it had been since they left North Blue, breaking and staying away longer and longer each time. 

“Is there an inn in this village?” Rosinante asked the first person he met- a friendly looking old man sitting by the docks, who had been watching Law with concern. “My son caught a fever while we were traveling. I thought it best to stop until he’s well.” 

The old man softened immediately, his eyes darting from Rosinante to Law, to the worried slope of Rosinante’s shoulders. 

“Poor boy,” the old man hummed, his words shaped carefully and slowly with the practiced ease of someone used to speaking to foreigners. Rosinante had a knack for languages, it was an essential part of being a spy, but he’d still spoken to the old man in clumsy Eastern with the softest lilt of a Western accent. 

“The inn is usually full this time of year,” the old man said. Before Rosinante’s heart could start to sink, he added, “but I know Makino keeps a few rooms over her bar free, if you don’t mind the noise.” 

Rosinante bit down the desperate urge to laugh. “I’d be grateful for anything, in truth,” he said, and let the old man lead them through town. 

He brought them to a homey looking bar, pushing inside and ignoring the early evening crowd as he waved to the woman behind the counter. Her eyes widened when she took in Rosinante’s height, before immediately fixing on Law in his arms. She slid a drink to a man down the bar without looking, and hurried over. 

She said something to them in a language Rosinante didn’t recognize, before the old man held up a hand to calm her. 

“It’s alright, Makino,” he soothed. “This man is only looking for a place to stay while his son recovers from a fever.” 

Makino’s brow pinched in sympathy. “Of course. You can stay here as long as you need, mister...” 

She trailed off, blinking at Rosinante expectantly. Something about it felt like a challenge. 

Rosinante offered her the hand that wasn’t holding Law. He hadn’t forgotten his manners. 

“Cora Rosinante,” he told her, thinking of what Law tended to call him. It would be easier to explain his son calling him by his surname, rather than a new name entirely.

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Makino,” she said, her grip on Rosinante’s hand surprisingly firm. He nodded politely to her, before offering his hand to the old man. 

“I apologize for not introducing myself earlier,” he said, but the old man waved him off before giving his hand an enthusiastic shake. 

“It’s no harm at all,” he soothed. “I’m Mayor Woop Slap.” He grinned widely at Rosinante’s surprised hum, before turning to Makino. “Why don’t you get Cora settled in, and I’ll bring the doctor.”

“Doctor?” Rosinante asked, even as Makino nodded. 

The mayor huffed. “Of course the doctor! Your boy’s had that fever for some time, hasn’t he?"

His stare was surprisingly sharp, and Rosinante couldn’t bring himself to lie quick enough. 

“I don’t have much money,” he admitted instead. 

He’d always kept a considerable amount on him when he was acting as a pirate, but most of it had been eaten away by transport and the assorted medicines he was bringing Law. 

“That doesn’t matter as much as you might think, around here,” Makino said kindly. “Now, why don’t you come upstairs with me?” 

Rosinante found himself nodding and following after her, up a staircase behind the bar and through a narrow hallway to a cozy room with two beds. Rosinante carefully set Law on one, as Makino fussed with the covers. 

“I’m afraid the bed might be a bit small,” she said. “We don’t see many people as tall as you.” 

“Not many places do,” Rosinante laughed. 

He was spared from any awkwardness in the silence that followed by the mayor appearing in the doorway. He was followed by a stoop-shouldered old woman. 

She didn’t say anything as she bustled over to Law, ignoring Rosinante in favor of checking Law’s pulse, temperature, and poking and prodding him in ways Rosinante assumed had medical purposes. 

He thought he was being very patient, giving the doctor a fair amount of space to work with. That was until she turned to him and snapped, “Stop looming over me!” 

Rosinante backed up and tripped onto the other bed as she glared at him- arms windmilling. The moment he was settled she turned back to poking at Law. 

“Any chance he caught some disease?” she asked. 

Rosinante pushed down the cool anger that flickered in his chest. These days Law’s spots looked more like scars, or vitiligo, than Amber Lead. 

“I think he’s just exhausted.” His voice was sharper than he meant it to be, and he felt Makino turn to eye him. 

“What happened?” 

Rosinante swallowed before answering- buying himself time. “He’s never slept well. But it’s been worse since he- he saw something terrible. It’s why we’ve been traveling.” 

“What did he see?” the doctor asked, almost managing to sound indifferent. 

“Someone who looked after him got shot.” 

Makino made a sharp noise. The doctor’s shoulders slouched a bit more. 

“Did this person die?”

Rosinante shrugged. “It certainly seemed that way.” 

He had done his best to ignore any thoughts of Law- unnaturally silent and panicking- as he tried to stop Rosinante’s bleeding. Tried to wake him. 

He didn’t want to think about what would have happened if he _ never _ woke. 

The memory of Law shaking the treasure chest behind him as he bled out had been horrible enough. The feeling of his Devil Fruit swallowing the sound of screaming, worse. 

(Law could be so terribly loud. In his anger. In his grief. His sound didn’t fit his small body; like he was bursting at the seams with feeling, and the only outlet it had was _ noise_. It was ironic, in a twisted way, that he had suffered so silently through the Amber Lead. Rosinante wondered if he’d have the chance to grow into his voice now, or if it would always be the biggest part of him.)

“Was it pirates?” the mayor asked. “The attacks in West Blue have been so cruel lately.” 

“It was a pirate,” Rosinante nodded, before offering the mayor a small smile. “Is my accent really that bad?” 

The mayor rumbled a laugh. “Your accent is plenty good, boy, but my ears are better.” 

Before Rosinante could say anything else, the doctor straightened up. 

“You were right,” she told Rosinante. “I can’t see anything wrong with him beyond exhaustion, and a bit of malnourishment. All I can tell you to do is try to keep his temperature down and get him something to drink and eat when he’s awake.” 

“But he _ will _ wake up? He’ll be alright?” Rosinante pressed, and the doctor raised a bushy eyebrow at him. 

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t.” 

The strings that had been holding Rosinante the whole journey were cut. He slumped forward, tucking his head to his hands. He tried, and failed, not to cry. 

Rosinante wasn’t sure what he would have done, if he had gone through everything only to have Law kill himself trying to save him. It had been a thought too horrible to linger on. But it had plagued him every day that Law blinked at him with hazy eyes. 

Law had never looked at him blankly, not even when he’d hated Rosinante. His eyes were the most expressive part of him. At first he’d watched Rosinante cruelly, sharply. The way that cold look had thawed felt like a miracle. Before they’d been caught, towards the end, Law’s eyes had been alight with something warm and new, even as he grew sicker. Rosinante could recognize the hope and affection only because they had been foreign to him too, once. The trust Law had looked at him with had almost been too much to bear. 

Rosinante wanted nothing more than to live up to that trust, to that faith. 

To have Law look _ through _ him, to see his clever eyes unfocused and dull; it turned Rosinante’s stomach. 

Rosinante had fallen into the ocean only once after eating his Devil Fruit. Sengoku had seen it happen, had ordered a Marine to jump into the water after him and haul him out, but not before water had forced itself into Rosinante’s lungs. 

It had burned. Burned in a way Rosinante had never felt before. But the worst part of it by far was the helplessness. No matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t move his limbs. He couldn’t fight the sea, couldn’t fight to save his own life. He could only watch darkness creep into his vision. 

Being free from Doflamingo, being free from the fear of Law dying, it was better than the first breath he had taken after Sengoku had pounded on his back. 

But, in a strange way, it hurt too. Just like his gasping breaths had.

Relief could be just as overwhelming as fear.

A small hand settled on Rosinante’s shoulder. He looked up to find Makino, the only person left in the room, smiling softly at him. She set a bowl of water and a small cloth on the table next to Law. Rosinante couldn’t quite find his voice to thank her. 

“You should rest,” she told him. “It won’t help your son if you’re both exhausted.” 

Rosinante had to clear his throat a few times before he could answer. “I’m not sure how to repay you for this.” 

Makino shrugged. “Maybe you can help me fix some of the higher shelves over the bar. But we can talk about that in the morning.” 

She left before Rosinante could say anything else, quietly closing the door behind her. The bar beneath them was rowdy, but a clap of Rosinante’s hands blocked that out. 

He soaked the cloth Makino had left, wringing it out a few times before setting it on Law’s forehead. Then he reached into the bag he’d carried Law in before, rooting around for a minute before finding Law’s hat. 

It would do more harm than good to put it on Law, he knew, but he’d never seen Law without it. He figured it must be some sort of comfort, so he pressed it into Law’s hands. Law’s fingers immediately curled around the fluffy brim, and he settled as Rosinante pulled the sheets up over him. 

Rosinante laid down on the other bed, staying on his side to keep watch of Law’s chest rising and falling. Almost without realizing it, he began to hum, then sing, the quiet lullaby his father had sung for him when he was young. 

It was a song about peace. About love, and safety. About family stronger than anything else. Law wouldn’t understand the words, if he could hear them, but Rosinante imagined the sentiment was easily understood. 

✦✦✦

In the morning Law was conscious long enough for Rosinante to bring him food and water. His movements as he ate and drank were mechanical. His eyes never focused on one spot in the room. Never focused on Rosinante. But when Law lay back down, his fever had broken. 

Rosinante took the washcloth from Law’s forehead and re-wet it before heading downstairs to speak to Makino. She was wiping down the bar, chatting with a few patrons as she did. Rosinante knocked lightly on the doorframe to get her attention. 

“How’s your son?” she asked. The worry in her eyes looked genuine. 

“Better than he’s been in some time,” Rosinante said, and her smile grew to match his. “You mentioned something about the shelves over your bar, right?"

Makino’s brows pinched together. Maybe she had expected Rosinante to forget. He’d never liked being in debt to people. His time in Doflamingo’s crew only exacerbated that. 

“I’ve been replacing the shelves behind the bar, but I can’t reach some of them without a ladder,” she explained. “If you’d be willing, I’d really appreciate some help.” 

“I’d be happy to,” Rosinante said. He needed something to focus on other than Law. 

Rosinante spent the next two days working on Makino’s shelves, minding Law, and people watching. The tiny village bar had an interesting range of clientele. The mayor was a regular, surprisingly capable of holding his liquor. A gang of mountain bandits frequently stopped by as well. They never caused any problems, though. They sat and drank and laughed as their leader slouched over the bar and ranted to Makino about the trouble ‘her boys’ were causing. Her stories made Makino laugh so hard she cried. 

From the way the bandit spoke, Rosinante wasn’t sure if the boys in question were children, or impressively destructive dogs. When she mentioned her boys dragging home a wild boar they had killed, Rosinante decided he could live with the mystery. 

On the afternoon of the third day, Rosinante was putting the finishing touches on the last shelf, listening to Makino’s stories about a monster that lurked in the waters around the island. 

Rosinante figured it was a small Sea King. 

“It nearly _ ate _ one of the local boys,” Makino hissed, scrubbing at a stubborn spot on the bar, personally offended by the fact.

Rosinante was about to reply, when a loud clattering from upstairs reached him. Rosinante was up the stairs in an instant, Makino close behind him. He threw open the door to his and Law’s room. 

There were glass shards scattered across the floor. Law was sitting upright on the edge of the bed, staring at the glass and his hands like he didn’t understand what had happened. 

“Law?” Rosinante called, afraid Law wouldn’t respond. Afraid that he would be as blank as he had been every other time Rosinante said his name. 

Instead, he turned towards Rosinante, blinking slowly. His eyes cleared. Widened. 

“Cora?” he whispered, disbelieving. Rosinante rushed forward, catching Law as he scrambled towards him, and pulling him into a hug. 

Law clung, chokingly tight, to Rosinante’s neck. He had dropped to his knees to catch Law, and shards of glass bit his legs. Law shook violently, pressed so tightly against Rosinante he could feel Law’s frantic heartbeat. 

“You’re alive,” Law babbled, over and over again in desperate Northern. His voice shook as he sobbed. 

“We’re alive,” Rosinante promised, squeezing Law tighter to reassure himself. “We’re alive. We escaped.” 

“He shot you,” Law said, before his words seemed to register and he pulled back enough to look at Rosinante. He didn’t let go. “You said he wouldn’t- he _ shot _ you.” 

Then his hands were scrambling across Rosinante’s chest and shoulders, looking for wounds that were still healing. “Are you- what- did I?”

Rosinante caught his hands carefully. “You saved me,” he said, then turned Law’s hands so he could see the backs of them. “You saved yourself, too.” 

Where there had once been a snow-white patch, there was now only a slight discoloration on Law’s right hand. Law gaped at it. 

“How much do you remember?” Rosinante asked. 

He wanted to know how exactly Law saved their lives. 

He wanted to know if Law remembered he was a Marine. 

Law frowned. “I- I don’t know.” He scrubbed furiously at the tears running tracks down his cheeks. “I don’t know.” 

“That’s alright,” Rosinante soothed, running a hand through Law’s hair. 

Law leaned into it. 

“He tried to kill you. Because of _ me_,” Law hiccuped. 

“No, Law. _ No, _” Rosinante said. “He tried to kill me because I betrayed him.”

“Because of me!”

Rosinante’s stomach sank. “Law, he would have killed me even if I hadn’t taken you.” 

Law’s eyes met his, teary and fierce. It pushed Rosinante to admit what he hadn’t wanted to. 

“Doffy has been planning to kill me since I joined his crew.” His voice was rough, gravelly and tight. “Maybe even before then.” 

For all that Rosinante hated Doflamingo, he never managed to stop loving him. He couldn’t separate the monster he knew now from the brother he _ had _ known. The brother who told him bedtime stories so he wouldn’t be afraid of the dark. The brother who would wait however long it took for Rosinante to speak, even when he forgot words or his tongue seemed to tangle. The brother who first taught Rosinante how to throw a punch. 

The brother who said he loved Rosinante so much he would do anything for him. The brother that Rosinante loved just as much. 

Was it better or worse to think that Doflamingo had been lying?

Rosinante took a moment to steady himself, to cup Law’s face and smile, as bright and warm as possible. 

“None of it was your fault.” 

Law ducked his head, a fresh wave of tears dripping from his chin. 

“Why?” he asked. He’d never sounded so much like a child. “Why did you- why _ me_?” 

“Law…” 

“I still could have died. Why go that far? For me?” Law collapsed further in on himself, dropping onto the bed and tucking his knees to his chest. “_Why?_ Was it- was it because of my name?”

It took Rosinante a moment to understand. When he did, he pulled Law back into his arms. Law unwound his limbs and hugged him back. 

As if the Will of D could have _ anything _ to do with Rosinante loving him. 

“Law, _ no_,” he held Law tighter. “I did it because you’re family to me.” 

An understatement, but Rosinante figured anything else would be too much for Law to hear. As it was Law started sobbing again, clinging to Rosinante like a lifeline. 

“You… You’re family to me too.”

Law’s voice was so soft that Rosinante barely heard it. His heart soared. He tucked his head against Law’s and let them both settle. They were alive. They were _ alive_. 

A few hours later, Rosinante crept back down to the bar. Law was dead tired. After Rosinante explained how they’d wound up in East Blue, he left him to sleep. Law had been sick for so long. It would take time to recover. 

“How is he?” Makino asked. She had left Rosinante alone with Law as soon as she’d seen there was nothing wrong. 

“Better than I could have hoped.” Rosinante dropped the broken glass he collected into a bin beneath the bar. “He’s resting now, but he’s finally himself again.” 

“I’m so glad!” Makino’s smile was heart-warmingly kind. “Why don’t you sit down?” she said, nodding to the other side of the bar counter. “You look like you need a drink.” 

Rosinante laughed, but let himself be guided onto a bar stool, and thanked Makino when she set a large glass of beer in front of him. 

“Do you mind if I smoke here?” he asked her, ignoring the fact that there were at least twenty other patrons with cigarettes balanced between their lips. 

“Not at all,” Makino promised. 

Rosinante managed to light his cigarette without lighting _ himself_. Maybe some god was looking down on him, and decided he’d been having a hard enough time lately without accidentally burning a bar down too. Whatever the case, Rosinante was grateful as he slouched against the bar. He made idle conversation with Makino, smoked, and nursed his beer. 

Finally, _finally_, he could relax. 

Of course that was the moment the bar doors swung open, and a loud, familiar voice called, “you’re as busy as ever, Makino!” 

Makino’s eyes lit up. “Garp!” 

Rosinante couldn’t believe it, not even when he turned to look. Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp, still in uniform, had just marched into a tiny East Blue bar. 

His sharp eyes landed on Rosinante. Surprisingly, he paled. 

“Something wrong?” Rosinante asked, amazed his voice didn’t waver. 

Garp gave himself a shake, and grinned at Rosinante. “Sorry about that,” he said, settling onto the stool next to him. “My friend just lost his brat. You look an awful lot like him, is all.” 

Rosinante could taste bile in the back of his throat. He forced it down. Forced himself to think. 

Garp hadn’t brought any of his underlings into the bar with him. 

He had known Garp as long as he’d known Sengoku. Thought of him as an uncle. He knew the kind of man Garp was. 

If he couldn’t trust Garp, he decided, he couldn’t trust anyone in the Navy. 

“Oh, come on,” Rosinante said, forcing the words with a heavy tongue. “Is a bit of hair dye all it takes to trick you?”

For a long moment, they both froze. Garp’s eyes slowly widened. Rosinante tried to smile, but it fell flat. Garp’s eyes watered. 

Then his expression hardened. 

“Why don’t you come have a smoke with me?” he asked. “Outside?” 

Rosinante put his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray, and followed Garp out the bar’s back door. He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen. 

Garp punching him in the chest, then dragging him into a blubbering hug was not at the top of the list. It wasn’t entirely unpredictable either. 

Rosinante barely had time to register that he’d been hit before Garp was wrapped around him. He wasn’t sure how Garp’s troops didn’t have chronic whiplash. 

“You brat,” Garp growled. Any intimidation was undermined by his blotchy red cheeks and the fact that he couldn’t stop crying. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? In what world is this alright? Letting us all think that you’re dead?!” 

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Rosinante promised. Garp was, as usual, a bit overwhelming. “Not at first.” 

“At first?” Garp pressed. “Sengoku’s been _ beside _ himself. Did you even-“

“Garp.” Rosinante cut him off. He didn’t think he’d be able to stomach Garp saying any more. “I _ barely _ made it out alive. Doffy thinks he killed me. It wasn’t safe for me to go straight back home.” 

A part of Rosinante, the part of him that was still the frightened child Sengoku took in, had wanted to run home immediately. He had never believed Sengoku could protect him from everything, but he made it easier for Rosinante to live with his fear. The bitter, realistic part of him knew how disastrous it could have been to return to HQ. _ Would _have been, with Law involved. 

Garp frowned, scrubbing at his eyes. “So you’re doing… what, exactly? Hiding?” 

“Hiding,” Rosinante agreed. “Hiding and healing. Not all of us can brush off being shot as easily as you do.” 

“Do you need a doctor?” Garp asked, his concern outshining any anger he had over Rosinante making him and Sengoku grieve. 

Rosinante shook his head. “I’ve already been treated.” 

He had been keeping an eye on his wounds as he and Law travelled. They’d been healing shockingly well, considering the circumstances. Law might have been a child, but he knew more about medicine than adults who’d practiced it their whole lives. Rosinante trusted him with this. 

“What happened?” Garp asked. 

Rosinante told him everything. 

It took a few hours. By the end of the story, he and Garp were both sitting at the table behind Makino’s bar, smoking and staring up at the stars. 

Rosinante felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. 

“Pretty round about way of giving Sengoku a grandkid, if you ask me,” Garp muttered. 

Rosinante choked on a laugh. “Oh, that’s going to be a disaster,” he said, more to himself than Garp. 

Rosinante being a Marine would be a betrayal, to Law. But Rosinante’s father being the Fleet Admiral? He would be surprised if Law didn’t try to kill Sengoku on principle alone. 

Rosinante waved off the look Garp shot him. “I’ll explain tomorrow. But tonight… I need to sleep.” 

Garp nodded. He shuffled to his feet and offered Rosinante a hand up. “We can talk in the morning.” 

Before he could leave, Rosinante said, “you know you can’t call Sengoku about this, right?” 

“Doflamingo’s got spies of his own, yeah?” Garp sighed. “I won’t report this.” 

“Thank you,” Rosinante said, and watched Garp trudge off towards the harbor. 

When Rosinante finally dragged himself to bed, he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you couldn't tell, I'm a big fan of the idea of multiple languages existing in the One Piece universe. I hope the languages are clear from context. The italics show a different language than the one being spoken in the scene, which will usually wind up being Flevean and Northern for Rosinante and Law.
> 
> All of the chapters for this fic are written, but I'm not sure what the posting schedule will be. I also a have a few other fics in this verse finished and in progress. I'll probably post those as they get written. 
> 
> If you want to, hit me up on tumblr at sweetscentences! I'll be tagging posts related to this as small-changes-fic
> 
> Thank you so much for reading <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy thanksgiving yall! Thank you for being patient with this fic. As always I'm gonna thank ComparedFever because this fic wouldn't exist at all without her encouragement, help, and friendship.  
Also, holy shit the incredible [Lizirinz did art for this ](https://sweetscentences.tumblr.com/post/189105323981/lizirinzs-please-let-us-in-so) and I'm still not over that!!!!!!!!!! If this self-indulgent mess inspires anything from you please come tell me about it on tumblr at sweetscentences I Will Cry About It <3

Rosinante woke to find Law checking his wounds. He was perched on the edge of Rosinante’s bed, leaned over him and poking at the sill tender skin. Rosinante wasn’t sure how he’d gotten his bandages off without waking him. 

“You know most people ask before they do that?” Rosinante grumbled, his voice rough from sleep. 

Law shot him a brief, sharp grin. Rosinante accepted his fate and dropped his head back onto the pillow. 

After a few minutes, Law maneuvered Rosinante upright and started rebandaging his chest. Apparently he’d gone digging in Rosinante’s bag. 

“How’d you do this anyway?” Rosinante asked, when Law seemed satisfied with his work. “I know… I know how bad it was.” 

He had been dying. He was absolutely certain. Even before Doflamingo shot him, he’d been in bad shape. But all he’d cared about was living long enough for Law to get away.

Law shrugged, almost managing to hide his wince. “My Devil Fruit helped,” he said, with a finality Rosinante knew meant he wouldn’t say anything else. 

Rosinante didn’t press. Instead he grabbed a shirt and lead Law down to the bar. Makino waved to both of them. Law kept a careful distance from her, next to and half a step behind Rosinante. He wasn’t one for easy trust or goodwill. 

Rosinante hoped that could change, now that they had time. At the very least, he’d already dropped some of his aggression. 

Makino didn’t seem offended by Law’s distance. Instead she smiled and offered them breakfast. 

Law didn’t eat much, but it was more than he had in some time. He slouched in his seat and leaned against Rosinante’s arm. 

“An old friend of mine is going to come by soon,” Rosinante told Law. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” 

Law gave him a look, but didn’t have time to ask anything before Garp walked into the bar. He wasn’t in uniform, but he held himself like a Marine. It had Law’s hackles rising in an instant. Rosinante set a hand on his shoulder. 

It didn’t do much to soothe Law, but it kept him in his seat. 

“You look less like shit,” Garp told Rosinante. 

Rosinante snorted. “You flatter me.” 

Garp ignored him and turned to Law. “You must be Rosinante’s kid,” he said. Rosinante wasn’t sure how much Eastern Law spoke. Garp held out his hand. “I’m Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp.” 

Rosinante winced. Law bared his teeth and slapped Garp’s hand away from him. 

“Don’t touch me,” he spat. It seemed he spoke Eastern afterall. 

Without even looking at Garp, he stood and turned to Rosinante. 

“_I’m not staying,_” he said. Rosinante nodded and watched Law slip back upstairs. He was probably going to rest, if the way he’d swayed on his feet was any indication. 

When he was gone, Garp let out a long, low whistle. “Looks like he doesn’t like me.” 

That was a bit of an understatement. Rosinante pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed a cigarette. Or five. 

“It’s _ really _ nothing personal.” 

Getting them somewhere safe from Doflamingo was going to be… _ complicated _if Law couldn’t even be in the same room as a Marine. 

“Do you want to head out back?” Rosinante asked Garp. “It’s a bit more private.” 

Garp nodded, leading them outside after snagging a drink from Makino and shifting their conversation to Grand. 

Rosinante was glad. It had been a while since he had spoken the language Sengoku raised him with. 

Rosinante thought back as they watched the sun climb higher and higher in the sky. Thought about Sengoku’s patience with him, even in the periods when Rosinante would fall silent. Sometimes he wouldn’t speak for months. Sengoku never pushed him on that. Never blamed him, never yelled. Only offered to learn sign language with Rosinante for when something needed to be said, but Rosinante couldn’t bear his own voice.

He hadn’t always known how to handle Rosinante, or what to make of him. But he had always tried. Rosinante would never be able to thank him enough for that.

Sengoku, it seemed, was going to be the focus of their conversation. 

“So, when are you planning to head back?” Garp asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “Let Sengoku know you aren’t dead, and all.” 

Rosinante bit his lip. “I don’t know.” 

Garp shot him an incredulous look. “The hell do you mean you don’t know?” 

Rosinante grit his teeth. “I _ mean _that I don’t know. It’s fairly simple. I can’t go until I know it’s safe.” 

“Can’t you send him a message?” 

“A message can be intercepted. Overheard.” Rosinante shook his head. “I know that better than most people.” 

Garp sighed, but he backed down. It would have been nice if it weren’t for the fact that he decided to punish Rosinante’s stubbornness by regaling him with stories of training his troops. He went on for _ well _ over an hour. Rosinante wasn’t sure if he felt worse for himself, or Garp’s subordinates. 

When Garp finally paused to take a breath, and a swig of his beer, Rosinante held up a hand. 

“If you’re somewhere you won’t be overheard, you can tell Sengoku what’s happening,” Rosinante told him. “In _ person_.” 

It might be disastrous, but the thought of Sengoku knowing he was alright made him feel better about the whole situation. 

It had been over a month. He wondered if Sengoku had given him a funeral.

“Don't you want to see him yourself?” Garp pressed. 

“Of course I do!” Rosinante snapped, temper flaring violently. It took him a moment to reign himself in. “Of _ course _ I want to see him. Do you think it makes me happy? That he thinks I’m dead? That I can’t tell him where I am?” 

Rosinante met Garp’s eyes, sharp and unflinching. His chest heaved. His heart pounded in his ears. Shockingly, it was Garp who looked down first. When their stare broke, the fight left Rosinante in a rush. 

“I don’t know how high up Doffy’s network goes,” he sighed, running a heavy hand down his face. He felt older,_ much _older, than his 26 years. “I can’t put Law’s life at risk like that. I can’t report back until I know we’ll be safe.” 

Rosinante stared at Garp pleadingly, only relaxing when Garp softened. 

“You _ are _ a Marine.” 

Rosinante’s blood ran cold. He turned to find Law leaning in the doorway on unsteady legs, his golden eyes wide and shining. 

Rosinante had forgotten that Law could speak Grand. 

He reached out to Law, only to have him flinch back like he’d been hit. “Law-” 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Law snapped, a horrible echo of what he’d said to Garp that morning. Law’s hands curled into fists at his side, his whole body trembling. “I trusted you,” he hissed. “I trusted you and you _ lied to me_. About _ this_!” 

“Law, _ please-_"

“Is that what you wanted?” Law’s voice cracked, tears spilling over his cheeks and his chest rattling as he shouted. “Is that what this was for?” 

There was something sharp and familiar in Law’s eyes. 

“So I could be _ your _ weapon instead of _ his_?”

It was the way Law had looked at him before he stabbed him. 

It was gone as soon as the words settled between them. Law’s eyes widened. A pit opened in Rosinante’s stomach. The horror crawling up his throat was reflected on Law’s face, as he slapped a hand over his mouth. 

Rosinante recognized the instant Law was going to run, reaching out to grab his wrist the moment he turned. He let go as soon as Law froze, head ducked down to his chest. He knew how much Law hated to be grabbed, knew how much Law would hate to be grabbed by him _ now_. He stepped back, before Law could turn and hit him on instinct, and kneeled down in the dirt in front of him. 

Law refused to meet his eyes. Rosinante found he didn’t mind, if it meant Law didn’t see him struggling for words. Didn’t see him struggling to breathe through the tightness in his chest.

Even when he was cruel, Law was clever. He’d managed to find the most haunting thought that whispered to Rosinante, and give it voice. 

Would Doflamingo be delighted or furious to hear Rosinante compared to him?

(Delighted, if only because Rosinante felt like his chest was being split open.)

It took Rosinante a minute to find his voice. When he spoke, it was rough and strained.

“I lied because I knew I might die,” Rosinante admitted, and Law’s shoulders hitched up to his ears. “I wanted you to live. Maybe it was selfish, but I didn’t want to spend my last hours with you hating me.” 

Rosinante reached back into his pocket, ignoring the way Law’s flinch made bile climb up his throat. He took one of Law’s hands, carefully unfolding his fist, and set a small sheathed knife into it. 

“If you need space I’m not going to stop you, but I want you to be safe.” He drew his hands back when Law’s fingers curled around the knife, even though he wanted nothing more than to pull him into a hug. “Take all the time you need. I’ll- I’ll be here. If you want to talk.” 

Law nodded stiffly, taking a few shuffling steps away before stopping. He still didn’t look at Rosinante. 

“_You- you aren’t like him_,” he whispered, slipping into Flevean. “_I didn’t mean it.” _

“_I know you didn’t_,” Rosinante promised. Law nodded again, before turning on his heel and stalking off towards the woods. 

Rosinante waited until he was well out of sight before turning and vomiting into the bushes. After a few minutes of dry heaving, one of Garp’s heavy hands settled on his back. Rosinante leaned back onto his heels, accepting the glass of water Garp passed him.

“You alright there, kid?” he asked, and Rosinante forced a laugh.

He rinsed his mouth a few times before taking a proper sip of the water. When Garp offered him a hand up, he took it, and settled back into his chair. He tucked one of his knees against his chest, resting his head against it. 

“I’ll be fine when things get sorted out with Law,” Rosinante told him. He didn’t say _ if_. He refused to think like that. 

He was fairly certain some part of Law already knew Rosinante lied. He was too clever not to. But it had been easier for both of them, in that moment, to live in that lie. Easier for Law to write off or repress whatever he had heard when he’d been hidden in the treasure chest. The lie was always going to fall through eventually. Better sooner rather than later. 

He’d tell Law about his childhood too, he decided. Get anything that might truly make Law hate him out in the open when he was ready to talk. 

He didn’t think Law would hate him. 

He _ hoped _ Law wouldn’t hate him. 

“The kid doesn’t like Marines, does he?” Garp hummed, snapping Rosinante back to the moment. 

“I can’t say I blame him.”

One of Garp’s impressive eyebrows climbed upwards. “Why is that?”

“How much do you know about what happened on Flevance?” Rosinante asked. If Garp was surprised by the apparent change in topic, he didn’t show it. 

“That plague right?” Garp asked, scratching at his chin. “Damn shame.” 

Rosinante grinned, all teeth. “Cut the bullshit, Garp. I know your tells.”

Garp stared at him for a moment before throwing his head back in a deep laugh. After a minute, he sobered. 

“The truth?” he asked. Rosinante nodded. He rarely wanted anything else.

“Sengoku approved of relief efforts being sent to the White City. He figured afterwards something wasn’t adding up. Had me look into it. I found… I found a report.” Garp took a moment, a breath, to steady himself. 

“There was an enrollment sheet for the medical school, for children under sixteen. They’d used it to confirm the identities of _ corpses_,” Garp snarled, before his anger left and a deep, old sadness seemed to blanket him. 

“One hundred and twenty three kids,” he sighed. “I’d heard the neighboring countries had set up a quarantine. Hell, I’d heard it had gotten violent. I just hadn’t realized that meant their branches of the Navy would be _ executing children_.” 

The armrests of Garp’s chair groaned, the metal warping under his grip. Rosinante could hear his teeth grinding from across the table. 

“But you can’t prove any of it,” Rosinante guessed. He knew, better than most, how corrupt the leaders of the world could be. 

“No records,” Garp hissed. “No witnesses. Not a single goddamn bit of proof. Just a report and some ‘lost’ munitions records.”

“One witness,” Rosinante corrected. Garp stared at him for a moment, before his head snapped towards where Law had run off. 

Eventually, he whispered a quiet, heartfelt, “_fuck_.” 

“Apparently the children were promised an evacuation. Law only refused to stay with his family.” 

Garp’s jaw clicked shut. The grinding of his teeth was louder than Rosinante had ever heard. A small part of him was glad to see Garp’s anger, his disgust, his helpless rage. Glad to hear of Sengoku’s suspicions, how uninvolved he’d been in the massacre. Rosinante wasn’t sure what he would have done if they weren’t the men he thought they were. 

Rosinante took a deep, grounding breath. 

“Can you really blame him? For not trusting the Navy?” 

“Suppose I can't,” Garp said, his voice a bit tight. He eyed Rosinante carefully. “Think the kid’s gonna forgive you?” 

It would be easy for Rosinante to lie. Harder to make himself believe it. He settled on the truth. 

“I hope so.” 

Garp nodded, then set about rifling through his coat. “Sengoku knew you lied,” he said, face lighting up when he found what he was looking for. He dropped a baby den-den mushi onto the table between them. 

“When?” Rosinante asked, eyeing the snail when Garp made no move to call anyone. Instead, he lit a cigar. 

Rosinante wordlessly held out a hand. After a moment of grumbling Garp passed him a cigar, lighting it before Rosinante could steal the lighter and accidentally set himself on fire. 

“How many times have you lied to him?” Garp laughed as Rosinante took a long drag. 

Garp could be a bit of a cheap bastard, sometimes, but not when it came to cigars. 

“Only once,” Rosinante said, flicking a bit of ash onto the dirt. 

“And your old man caught it. All he told me was that you’d latched onto some pirate brat and decided to die for him.” 

It was a bit jarring, to hear what he’d done put into words like that. It was worse to imagine Sengoku getting the report and having to guess what had happened. 

Guessing. Because despite all the witnesses, despite all the blood, there had been no body. Nothing to give Sengoku closure. 

Rosinante’s eyes twisted shut. He took a deep breath. “I wasn’t thinking about what it would do to him,” he admitted. “I was just-“ 

“Thinking about the kid,” Garp cut him off. “I said Sengoku was grieving. I never said he didn’t understand.” 

Rosinante’s heart stuttered. Garp had cut to the painful truth of it. Sengoku loved Rosinante as a son- the son he had chosen, protected, and raised for years. The son he trusted with a mission neither of them could admit they were afraid of. And Rosinante broke that trust, because he loved Law the same as Sengoku loved him. 

Of course Sengoku, through all his grief and anger, would understand. He would have done the same thing for Rosinante. 

Rosinante didn’t realize he’d been crying until one of his hands came up to wipe away his tears. He didn’t realize Garp wasn’t simply giving him a moment until he heard the sound of a den-den mushi dialing. 

His eyes snapped open and he glared at Garp, ready to snarl at him, when the receiver clicked. The snail slouched forward. 

“Garp?” 

For the first time in Rosinante’s life, Sengoku sounded tired. 

“Garp, why the hell are you calling?” 

“Sengoku, I had a great idea,” Garp grinned. “I can promise you, it’ll get you feeling like yourself again.” He raised an eyebrow at Rosinante, who only looked away from Garp and kept smoking. 

“I’ve already told you, I’m not drinking anymore,” Sengoku growled. “Not… not yet.” 

Garp waved him off. “It’s not that. I was just thinking that you’ve never visited Foosha before. A few days with my grandsons could fix you up!” 

“Grand_sons_?” Sengoku asked, apparently ignoring the rest of Garp’s offer. “I thought you only had one.” 

“I did,” Garp laughed. “But apparently Luffy’s adopted two older boys. So now I have three.” 

Rosinante wasn’t sure that was how adoption worked, and given the snail’s flat look he assumed Sengoku thought the same. 

“Besides,” Garp went on, undeterred. “Luffy needs more Marine influences in his life. Apparently, that bastard Shanks visited and now Luffy’s got it in his head to be a _ pirate_.” 

The snail’s mouth dropped open. Rosinante choked on his inhale, creating a bubble of silence so he could cough up a lung without anyone hearing. Garp watched him pound his chest, and grinned smugly. Fucker. 

“Red-Haired Shanks?!” Sengoku cried. “In East Blue?” 

“Believe me, he’s gone now,” Garp grumbled, distinctly disappointed. “But I mean it, you should visit.” 

Sengoku didn’t pause. “I can’t. Garp, you know-“ 

“When have I ever lied to you about something this important?” Garp cut him off, his voice going serious. “I _ promise _ you, this will help.” 

He stared Rosinante down as he spoke. After a moment, Rosinante nodded. 

It should be safe, if Sengoku came alone. If he didn’t report his visit as anything more than a vacation. 

No one would blame him for taking time off, when his son had just died.

“I’m in East Blue overseeing a training anyway,” Sengoku sighed. “I can come for a few days.” 

“Two weeks.”

“_One _week,” Sengoku settled. When Garp didn’t press again, he huffed. “I can be there in two days, if the wind is good. You’d better be right, Garp.” 

“I know I am,” Garp promised, and hung up. Rosinante let go of his bubble of silence and sighed. 

“Thank you.” 

Garp shrugged him off, but Rosinante could see from his shining eyes that he was touched. 

“Don’t thank me until he’s here,” Garp said. “You better sort things out with the kid before then.”

Rosinante hoped that he could. 

✦✦✦

Law’s lungs were burning. He’d only walked a few miles into the woods, starting up a mountain path, and his lungs were _ burning_. 

He knew that made sense. Even if he hadn’t spent the last month and change with a fever, he’d spent the year before that slowly dying. He was healthier than he’d been in years, but that was a far cry from being _ well_. 

He knew all that objectively. It still pissed him off. 

But there wasn’t anything to be done about it, so he dropped himself onto a fallen log by the path, hung his head between his knees, and tried not to cry again. 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t known Cora was a Marine. As much as he wished he didn’t, he remembered every word of what happened when he was in the treasure chest. (It had been too cramped, too stifling. He’d had to keep his eyes open, so that he wouldn’t start imagining bodies pressed against him.) He knew that Cora lied to him. He’d just been childishly pretending he didn’t. He’d wanted to pretend he lived in a world where Cora wasn’t a Marine and trusting someone, _ loving _ someone, didn’t mean hurting. 

Law knew, deep down, it didn’t change anything. That the Cora he’d met when the man stopped pretending to be mute- the _ real _ Cora- was the same Cora that was a Marine. That the person Law decided to trust, to care about, had been a Marine the whole time. 

He’d known it when he’d climbed out of the treasure chest and found Cora slouched against it- bleeding out and fading fast. He’d known it when he’d dragged Cora away from the docks. He'd known it when, armed with nothing more than one of Cora’s pocket knives and powers he didn’t understand, he alternated between pulling poison out of himself and bullets out of Cora. He’d known it when he started to lose count of all the times he’d blacked out in the snow and woken up hours later, his freezing hands steady as he called on his power again and again and again. 

It hadn’t changed anything then. It wouldn’t change anything now. But it still hurt. And Law wanted one thing that didn’t. 

He would go back before it was dark, he decided. Cora may have told him to take all the time he needed, but Law knew he would worry if it got late and he hadn’t come back. Cora was the kind of person to worry about things like that, to worry about _ Law_. 

He’d worried enough about Law to almost die for him. To drag him halfway across the world to get away from Doflamingo. 

Law thought about how quickly Cora let go of his wrist earlier, when he stopped Law from running off. He ran his fingers over the sheath of the knife Cora had given him, because he was more worried about Law being safe on a tiny East Blue island than he was about Law stabbing him _again_. 

He thought about the sound Cora made, when Law compared him to Doflamingo. 

Law tilted his head back and wiped away his tears with the heel of his palm. He didn’t need to wait until the sun was setting. He would go back now. 

Or at least, he meant to. But when he looked up, he found himself surrounded by three men. 

They were dressed raggedly, the weapons in their hands as sharp as their smiles. They had either been quiet when they’d approached, or Law’s crying had been louder than he’d thought. 

One of the men said something to him. Law didn’t recognize the language, but he did recognize the posture. He recognized the threat of the man reaching towards him, the threat of the way they all held their blades. 

The moment the man’s hand touched Law’s shoulder, he unsheathed Cora’s knife and dug it into his elbow. The man reeled back with a howl. There was a moment of stillness, after he hit the ground. It broke quickly. 

The fight was short and brutal. 

The bandits were slower than any of Doflamingo’s men. Weaker than Buffalo and Baby 5.

Law knew all the places to cut a person to make them _ hurt_. 

The men were on the ground quickly, rolling in the dirt as they clutched their wounds. Law’s lungs were burning again. He took deep, measured breaths to ease the feeling. 

A loud cry from one of the trees interrupted him. Law’s head snapped up, and he found himself struggling to understand what he was looking at. 

There were three boys, a bit younger than him, sitting in a tree behind him. Well, two of them were sitting. The third was hanging upside down from the branch the others perched on. His hands were holding an oversized straw hat to his head to keep it from falling. His legs, unnaturally long, were wrapped around the branch and _ twisted _ at the ankles. Looking at it hurt Law’s head. 

The upside-down boy shouted something at him, the other two joining in a moment later. Law blinked at them. 

Unlike Baby 5 and Buffalo, he’d never skipped out on his language lessons. After all, rarer medical texts were rarely translated out of their sea’s language. Law wasn’t as good as Cora, but he knew enough to know that this wasn’t a standard language. 

Eastern wasn’t Law’s strong suit, but he figured it was a better bet than Grand. 

“I- I can’t understand you,” he called. The boys seemed startled for minute, but quickly went back to grinning. 

“Sorry about that,” the blond boy, wearing a _ top hat _of all things, called back. “We should’ve guessed you wouldn’t know Goan.” 

“That’s alright,” Law said. A part of him was still uncertain this was really a conversation that was happening. 

The boy in the straw hat said something in what was, apparently, Goan. Without looking, the other boys pinched his legs, _ pulling _on his skin and watching it snap back into place. 

Law stared, wide eyed and fascinated, as the boy somehow hauled himself up and shouted at the other two. The older looking boy with black hair only pointed at Law, and said, “speak Eastern, dumbass.” 

“Oh!” The boy cried, blinking at Law with almost comically wide eyes. “My bad! I’m Monkey D. Luffy! These are my brothers, Sabo and Ace,” he said, pointing at the blonde and black haired boys respectively. 

“I’m Trafalgar Law.”

He was fairly sure giving his name to three random kids in East Blue wouldn’t be a problem. 

“What kind of name is Traf- Tor…” Luffy trailed off for a moment, before settling on, “Torao.” 

“Trafalgar,” Law corrected, absentmindedly. “It’s Northern. You can call me Law.” 

“You have a weird accent, Torao,” Luffy called. 

At the same time Ace asked, “Why’d you beat up the triplets?” He nodded to the bandits behind Law, who were quietly slinking off. 

Law ignored Luffy’s comment about his accent entirely. The name he had settled on too. “They started it,” he told Ace. It sounded much more childish in Eastern than it would have in Northern. 

Sabo nodded sagely. “They usually do.” One of the bandits snapped something at him, only for Sabo to neatly lob a rock over Law’s shoulder and after them. 

Judging by the undignified squawk, he made contact. 

The brothers started making their way down from the tree- Sabo and Ace climbing down with an ease that spoke of practice. Luffy, on the other hand, simply jumped from the branch. 

Law swallowed a shout as Luffy hit the ground with a cloud of dirt. The knew the height an adult was certain to break bones falling from. A child of Luffy’s size-

The dust settled. Luffy stood proudly in a small dent in the road. Law gaped at him as Sabo came up and neatly slapped Luffy on the back of the head. 

Luffy’s hands flew up to grab his head, but he didn’t look _ hurt_. “What was that for?” he whined. 

“Just because you _ can _ do something doesn’t mean you _ should_,” Ace explained, as though it was normal for Luffy to go dropping himself out of 30 foot trees. 

“I’m sorry,” Law cut in, “but _ how _ are you not hurt?”

The brothers looked at Law, then each other, before bursting into giggles. 

“I’m a rubber person,” Luffy explained. As if that made sense. Ace, helpfully, hooked one of Luffy’s cheeks with a finger, and stretched it nearly two feet out. 

Law blinked. He wondered if this was a fever dream. A quick pinch of his arm proved he wasn’t asleep. Ace let go of Luffy’s cheek, and it snapped back into place, Luffy’s head swaying. 

Sabo snickered. “He ate a Devil Fruit.”

“Ah,” Law mumbled. Well that explained that then. He supposed if there was a Devil Fruit that could cure his sickness and bring Cora back from the brink of death, there could be a Devil Fruit that turned a person into rubber. 

Didn’t make it any less weird though. A distant part of Law wondered if Luffy’s organs were all rubber too. Wondered just how different a rubber person would be if you took them apart. But he figured it would be rude to ask. 

“You’re not freaking out,” Ace said. Law only shrugged. When it was clear he wasn’t going to get anything else out of him on that front, he asked, “how’d you learn to fight like that?” 

“Pirates,” Law told them simply. He was _ not _ expecting their eyes to light up. 

“Pirates taught you?” Luffy cried, while Sabo asked, “why did pirates teach you to fight?” and Ace glared at him suspiciously. 

“They taught me because I’m a pirate,” Law said, then paused, considering. “_Was _ a pirate. I’m not sure if I still am.” 

That was probably something he should figure out. Soon. 

Ace and Sabo said something, but Law was distracted by Luffy appearing in front of him. He grabbed Law’s hands, pulling him down and himself up, bringing them nearly to eye level. (Which was a bit embarrassing. Law knew his growth had been stunted, but Luffy couldn’t have even been ten years old.) 

“You’re a pirate?!” 

Law flinched back in the face of Luffy’s enthusiasm. It was more than a bit overwhelming. “I was. I left the crew.”

‘Left’ was certainly one way to describe what he and Cora had done. He knew Doflamingo wouldn’t describe it as kindly. 

“That’s so cool!” Luffy cried. “But it’s not fair! How old are you anyway?” 

Luffy’s accent was a bit hard to understand when he was speaking so quickly. It took Law a moment to catch up. 

“I’m fourteen, I think.”

He wasn’t sure what time of year it was, but he was fairly sure his birthday had passed. Not that birthdays had ever much mattered to him. The Donquixote Pirates would sometimes celebrate the anniversary of someone joining the crew, but hadn’t bothered him about his birthday. On Flevance the only reason he’d cared about his birthday at one point was because it meant he would be old enough to enroll in the medical school. 

“How old were you when you joined?” Sabo asked. 

“About ten,” Law guessed. Luffy whined. 

“But I’m _ eight _ and Shanks said I’m way too young to be a pirate!” 

Ace finally hauled Luffy out of Law’s personal space. “Well, Shanks is right!” 

“Is Shanks a pirate?” Law asked. Luffy’s eyes lit up, but before he could say anything, Sabo slapped a hand over his mouth. Luffy didn’t seem too deterred, if the muffled speech was any indication. 

“Shanks is a pirate,” Sabo said, eye twitching as Luffy clearly bit his hand. “_Long _ story short- he saved Luffy’s life, gave him that hat, and inspired him to become a pirate.” 

He finally took his hand off Luffy’s mouth, shaking it as Luffy grinned. 

“Not just a pirate. I’m gonna be the Pirate King!” 

He looked incredibly proud of the declaration. Sabo and Ace looked at Law, like they were expecting him to laugh. He didn’t. 

“Eight is too young to be a pirate,” he said instead. “Ten was too, but the crew I joined didn’t care about me being safe. Your Shanks probably does.” 

Luffy’s grin, impossibly enough, seemed to grow. Sabo and Ace shared a look before smiling at Law. 

“Wanna come see our treehouse?” Sabo asked. 

“You’ll be able to clean your knife there,” Ace added, nodding to the blade Law had sheathed and tucked into his pocket. 

Law considered for a moment, before nodding. He figured if it came down to it, for whatever reason, he’d be able to take the brothers in a fight. He didn’t really think he would need to. 

They walked for a while, filling the air with a comfortable chatter. The brothers seemed to understand that Law sometimes needed a moment to catch up with what they were saying. They were surprisingly patient about it. 

Eventually they reached an impressive treehouse, and Law was herded up a makeshift ladder and inside. When they all sprawled on the ground, Ace knocked his shoulder into Sabo’s. 

“What do you think the odds are that Gramps knows Northern?” he asked. 

“If he’s never been stationed there? Slim to none, probably. Why?” 

Ace ignored him in favor of grinning at Law. “How do you tell someone to go fuck themselves in Northern?” 

Law snorted, but he understood. Insults and swears were usually the first thing he learned in any language. 

“_Go fuck yourself_,” he said, slowing the words and pronouncing each syllable carefully enough for the brothers to follow. 

They repeated in a clumsy chorus. Law threw his head back and laughed, for a long moment, before guiding them through it again. 

It was important to know these things, after all. Especially if they were going to be pirates.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I'm a little bit drunk while uploading but the response to this fic has been so wonderful and I'm so grateful for the comments and kudos y'all have left. I'm so glad people are enjoying this self-indulgent mess <3  
I'm also very excited because I'm going to be harassing ComparedFever in person this winter and I can't wait.
> 
> But seriously, thank you all so much for the response. Feel free to hit me up on tumblr at
> 
> [sweetscentences](https://sweetscentences.tumblr.com/)

The sun set, and Rosinante was getting worried. Law hadn’t come back yet. Rosinante knew that Law could handle himself, knew he told him to take as long as he needed. But an old paranoia was creeping up on Rosinante. It didn’t help that this was the longest he’d been separated from Law in over half a year. 

Garp dragged him down to the docks to watch the sunset when Rosinante’s anxiety started to grate on him. But the sun finished sinking below the horizon, and there wasn’t any sign of Law. Rosinante gnawed, absentmindedly, on one of his nails. 

Garp smacked his hand from his mouth and hauled him to his feet. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Rosinante asked, but followed after Garp. 

“My grandsons stay with me when I visit. We’re going to go grab them.” There was an uncharacteristically soft smile on Garp’s face. “Besides, they know those woods better than anyone. Maybe they’ve seen your brat.” 

Rosinante wasn’t sure if he would describe Law as any sort of brat, let alone _ his_. He mellowed out while they traveled together- partly because he was dying, partly because he had someone to care about. But even when he first joined the Donquixote Pirates Rosinante would have described him as a _ homicidal little shit _ before he called him a _ brat_. 

He didn’t bother nitpicking though. Garp considered anyone younger than him a brat, and Rosinante… 

Lying was his livelihood. Sometimes, it came easier than breathing. But calling Law his son was the easiest lie he ever told. 

The best lies were the ones a person desperately wanted to be true. 

Garp lead them through the forest confidently, even though they quickly deviated from the path. Before too long, they arrived at the base of a massive tree. A treehouse the size of a small cottage was braced in its branches, and the sound of young voices floated down from it. 

Young voices _ cursing_. In _ Northern_. Garp shot Rosinante a look. 

“What are they saying?” he asked, just as Law’s voice reached them. He was slowly working through the pronunciation of a particularly graphic threat involving ice picks and vital organs. 

Rosinante heard it many times after he dragged Law away from the Donquixote Pirates. Back then, Law actually _ following through _ wasn’t out of the question.

Rosinante thought it best not to share that much. “Nothing good,” he said simply. 

Garp looked like he might press for more information, when loud laughter from above them distracted him. Garp’s soft smile turned into something sharp. 

“You brats!” he bellowed. Silence fell immediately, and three boys poked their heads out of the treehouse’s window. There was a mix of horror and excitement on their young faces. 

“Hi Gramps!” the smallest one, with a straw hat balanced on his head, called cheerfully. Rosinante had seen that hat before, on wanted posters. Which meant this must be Luffy- Garp’s grandson who had been charmed by Red-Haired Shanks. 

“Hey Gramps,” the only blonde of the group said with a wave. Garp regaled Rosinante with enough stories about his boys that evening for him to know this was Sabo- a street rat from the other side of the island who often served as a ringleader in the boys’ schemes. 

Which meant the last boy, grinning sharply down at them, had to be Portgas D. Ace. Rosinante wasn’t sure how Garp handled _ two _boys who inherited the will of D. He barely managed with one. 

Then Rosinante remembered _ Garp _ was a D. himself. No wonder he wore Sengoku out so easily.

“Hey. Gramps.” Ace’s voice was more a challenge than a greeting. “_Go fuck yourself_.” 

Rosinante fought the urge to choke on his own tongue. Garp’s face went red. Even if he couldn’t understand the words, Ace’s tone and smug grin were painfully clear. 

Rosinante was distracted from Garp starting a tirade by a figure making their way down the treehouse’s ladder. 

It seemed Luffy noticed the same thing. “Be careful, Torao!” 

Rosinante’s hands twitched with the effort of keeping them by his sides. Law wouldn’t appreciate Rosinante stepping up to help him. Wouldn’t appreciate being coddled, even if Rosinante could see his legs shaking. But he wasn’t going to grab Law, not when he didn’t know if his touch would be welcome. 

When he didn’t know if his _ presence _ would be welcome.

A few agonizing minutes later, Law was on solid ground and staring up at Rosinante. He scratched a faded pale patch on one of his arms- the only nervous tic Rosinante ever saw from him. 

Neither of them knew what to say. 

Law settled on saying nothing at all, instead taking a deep breath and opening his arms to Rosinante. He didn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees and pulling Law into a fierce hug. Law’s arms wound around his neck, and his head tucked against the hollow of Rosinante’s throat. 

Law trembled slightly, but Rosinante didn’t acknowledge it. His hands were shaking too, after all. 

There were so many ways he could have lost Law. To Doflamingo. To the Amber Lead. To the fact that he was a Marine. 

(There were so many ways he could still lose Law.)

“I knew for awhile,” Law admitted, his voice muffled by Rosinante’s shirt and the rounded shape of Northern. Garp somehow made his way into the treehouse to give them space, but Rosinante taught Law to be wary of prying ears. “I knew back on Minion. But I wanted to pretend I didn’t.” 

“I wanted to pretend too,” Rosinante said, holding Law a bit tighter. The fact that Law allowed it, that he squeezed Rosinante back, told Rosinante more than words could. 

“There are things I need to tell you,” he said. “About how I grew up. About being a Marine.” He hoped, desperately, that his birth as a noble wouldn’t be what drove Law away from him. He felt Law tense in his arms, and ran a careful hand up and down his back. 

“Nothing like that,” he promised. “_Never _ anything like that.” 

For all that Rosinante had done for the Navy, lying and killing alike, there was never anything comparable to Flevance. He would die before aiding a genocide. Would die before killing _ children_.

Law relaxed again with a shaky exhale. Nodded. His arms loosened a bit, and Rosinante took that as his cue to let go. Law stepped out of his arms, but didn’t go far. 

“I meant to come back sooner,” he said. “I got distracted.” 

Rosinante shook his head. “I told you to take as long as you needed.” He smiled at the treehouse, where Garp was herding his grandsons down the ladder, keeping a tight grip on Luffy. “It looks like you made some friends.” 

Law shrugged and scratched his arm again. “They’re weird, but funny. Luffy ate a Devil Fruit too.” 

“Oh.” Rosinante sat back and watched Garp try to corral his other two grandsons as Luffy wrapped strangely long arms around his neck. That explained some of Garp’s worry over the boys, as well as his resentment of Shanks. A Devil Fruit wasn’t likely to end up in a village as small as Foosha without a pirate’s involvement. 

Garp successfully caught Ace and Sabo in something that looked half like a hug and half like a wrestling move. He straightened out and marched towards Rosinante as the boys resigned themselves to their fates and slouched against his chest. 

“Let’s head back into town. Something tells me the boys haven’t eaten yet.” 

Apparently food was the magic word with Garp’s grandsons, who burst into an intimidating round of cheers. Law shot Rosinante a helplessly confused look. Rosinante couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh. 

✦✦✦

Law took hearing about Rosinante’s past better than he hoped. He half expected his childhood as a noble to be the final straw for Law. Instead, Law told him he couldn’t help where he was born, and that he didn’t act like a ‘complete bastard,’ so it didn’t matter. 

They both knew it mattered. 

Law traced the scars on Rosinante’s hands and arms with careful fingers and burning eyes. Rosinante wouldn’t be able to tell him they hadn’t hurt. Law understood the body far too well to believe that. Rosinante resolved, then, to never tell Law about his knees. Law would worry over them, over _ him_, far too much. But there wouldn’t be anything he could do. Every doctor Sengoku took Rosinante to said the same thing: they healed wrong when he was too young, and his body developed around the mangled parts. Any surgery would be more risk than it was worth. 

It wasn’t so bad, in the temperate East Blue. They didn’t ache or lock up the way they did in the Northern cold.

After a few minutes of cataloguing the wounds on Rosinante’s arms and grinding his teeth, Law softened. 

“That language you whisper in sometimes,” he said. “What is it?”

Rosinante was surprised Law noticed. He either had incredibly sharp ears, or he wasn’t asleep half the times Rosinante thought he was. 

Sadly, Rosinante was certain it was the latter. 

“It’s the language of Marie Geoise,” Rosinante sighed. “The language of my family.” 

All his family but Senoku, that was. Sengoku and now Law. 

“Even Doflamingo?”

Rosinante tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Even Doffy.” 

Law stared down at his lap. His hands squeezed Rosinante’s.

“Will you teach it to me?”

Rosinante’s eyes widened. An old taboo stole the breath from his lungs. 

To the Celestial Dragons, teaching a commoner the Holy Tongue would have been the greatest sacrilege. A betrayal like no other. One so severe that even Rosinante’s parents never did it. 

But Rosinante hadn’t been a Celestial Dragon in a very long time. 

“I’d be happy to,” he breathed. 

Law released his hand, only to shuffle closer and lean against his side. He even let Rosinante wrap an arm around him.

After that, Law took the news of Sengoku’s visit significantly worse. 

He shut down, briefly, his breath catching and his hands curling into fists. He didn’t look up at Rosinante when he told him he needed to leave. Told him that Luffy and his brothers invited him to go fishing, and that he would be back after sundown. 

It seemed he was trying to handle his anger, his grief, without lashing out. Rosinante wouldn’t stop him. Instead, he did his best to stay busy around Makino’s bar on the off chance that Law came back early and needed him.

It was a bit before midnight when Law returned, creeping into their room and pressing himself wordlessly against Rosinante’s side. 

For awhile, the only sounds were the rumbling chatter of the bar below and the cricket song from outside.

After a few minutes, Law spoke. “He’s the Fleet Admiral.”

“He didn’t know.” 

“How?” Law snarled, an old, familiar anger sharpening his voice. “How could the _ Fleet Admiral _ not know?” 

“Because the government is corrupt and cruel,” Rosinante said. It wouldn’t be good to lie to Law here. Not again. Not about _ this_. “There are people in power who know what Sengoku would never approve of, so they do it behind his back. They do it, and they burn records, and send bribes so he doesn’t find out.” 

Few people knew how _ little _Sengoku actually controlled. So much of what he did was standing as a figure-head. 

Law made a pained sound. Covered his face with his hands and ducked his head to his chest. Rosinante pressed on anyway. 

“I spoke to Garp about it. Sengoku tried to run an internal investigation, but with the ruling family dead there was no one to fund it. Not that they ever would have.”

He took a shaking breath. Reminded himself that _ not knowing _ would only hurt Law more.

“There were only a few, vague records left. As far as Sengoku could tell, all the others were burned.” 

That, it seemed, was too much for Law. He started sobbing, curling in on himself and Rosinante's side as Rosinante dragged him into his lap and against his chest. 

“So that’s all it took?” Law hiccuped, one of his hands twisting to grab Rosinante’s shirt. Anchoring himself against Rosinante. “A few burnt papers and it- it never happened?! _ We _ never happened?!” 

He made a sound like a dying animal, pressing his face against Rosinante’s chest and quickly soaking his shirt with tears.

Rosinante didn’t try to hush him, didn’t offer any meaningless platitudes. Law would never accept them, in the same way he would never accept pity. 

“It happened. Nothing can change that,” Rosinante growled, fighting to keep his voice steady. He was angry, so soul-burningly angry about what Law was forced to endure. 

It was the same anger he wielded as a weapon, when he wasn’t much older than Law. The same anger that drove him to burn the hospitals that turned Law away, that made Law _ cry_. 

The anger he wished he didn’t have. The anger he shared with Doflamingo. 

“The people who did it will be punished. In this life or the next.” 

Rosinante didn’t believe in fate as an unknowable, intangible force. He believed in fate as something that was made, something resting in a person’s hands. Something that depended on the strength of a person’s will. 

Law was the most strong-willed person he’d ever met. 

“What if I don’t believe in another life?” Law asked, breathless and horrible.

This was dangerous territory, Rosinante knew. But he promised himself he wouldn’t lie to Law again. 

“Then we work to see them punished in this one.” 

Law stilled for a moment. Took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“I won’t _ ever _ be a Marine,” he said. 

Rosinante ran a hand through Law’s wild hair. He didn’t take his hat when he left that morning. 

“I wouldn’t ever ask you to be one,” Rosinante told him. He meant it too. 

He knew Sengoku would want Law to join the Marines. Rosinante would make sure he never brought it up in front of Law. 

Sengoku wouldn’t like it. He would think Rosinante was encouraging Law to be a pirate through inaction. But Rosinante didn’t think he was being that passive. Law would be whatever he wanted to be. Rosinante would watch over him as long as he wanted it. 

Sengoku would just have to make peace with his grandson being a pirate. 

✦✦✦

Rosinante sent Law off to Ace, Sabo, and Luffy’s treehouse the moment he spotted Sengoku’s ship on the horizon. (Apparently Law had been sparring with the boys. They showed their bruises off to Rosinante and Garp proudly. Law was a far gentler teacher than his were.) Law didn’t hesitate or complain, he only grabbed his hat, gave Rosinante a quick hug, and waved to Makino as he swept out of the bar. He wasn’t comfortable being around Navy ships. Wasn’t even comfortable seeing them. 

Rosinante watched the ship approach from his window over Makino’s bar. When it docked in the harbor, he slipped out of the bar’s back door and into the woods, silencing himself as he went. 

He trusted Sengoku, and he trusted Garp, but he didn’t trust the men Sengoku would be bringing. Not implicitly. 

Not again. 

He settled himself down on a fallen log and braced his head in his hands. His Observation Haki was good enough to cover the village and the nearby coast. He could recognize Law, a bright spot a few miles away, moving with Garp’s boys. Sengoku and Garp were forceful presences, making their way through the town to the woods. Closer and closer to Rosinante. 

It was only a few minutes before Rosinante heard their voices. 

“If this were anyone but you, I would be suspicious, Garp,” Sengoku said, his voice tense. The sound of it made a pit grow in Rosinante’s stomach. 

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Garp laughed. 

“It’s simply a fact. You don’t have a scheming bone in your body,” Sengoku told him. “It’s a wonder where your son came from.” 

With that they walked into a clearing, and Rosinante’s line of sight. 

Sengoku looked _ tired_. He had clearly lost weight, and there were bruise-dark shadows under his steely eyes. Rosinante never thought of him as an aging man. He held himself too proudly for that. But now his features were haggard and worn- grief etched into every line of his face Rosinante never noticed before. Garp held up a hand to stop him, and he nearly stumbled. 

Rosinante ignored the way his hands shook. Ignored the way his stomach rolled. Ignored the horrible, choking lump in his throat. He let his bubble of silence grow to cover the clearing. 

“Garp, what are you-“ 

Sengoku's eyes landed on Rosinante. 

His mouth dropped open. 

Rosinante was up and crossing the clearing before either of them could blink, dragging Sengoku into a smothering hug. 

“I’m sorry,” Rosinante said, and Sengoku’s arms snapped around him like a vice. 

Sengoku held him bruisingly tight. It sent twinges of pain through Rosinante’s still healing wounds, made his ribs ache. He didn’t care. Sengoku had thought he was dead, and now he was crying against Rosinante’s shoulder. 

Rosinante had never seen him cry before. 

“How?” Sengoku asked, his voice shaking as much as his body. 

“I don’t know,” Rosinante told him, just shy of hysterical. “I thought- I _ knew _ I was…” he took a deep, heaving breath. Pushed the thought of dying out of his mind. “Law saved me. I don’t know how.”

He knew, generally, that Law saved his life using his Devil Fruit, but he still refused to share any details. Just like he refused to tell Rosinante how he healed himself. 

Law told him about Flevance. He wouldn’t say anything about this. 

Rosinante wasn’t sure he wanted to know. If it was bad enough for Law to keep it from him, he didn’t know if he could stomach it.

“Doffy has spies in the Marines,” Rosinante said, before Sengoku could press about Law. There would be time for that later. He pulled back just enough to look Sengoku in the eye, but didn’t let go of him. “I don’t know how many, but at least one is a Lieutenant called Vergo.” 

Sengoku’s teary eyes hardened. “Vergo? You’re certain?”

Rosinante wasn’t going to tell Sengoku any details. Wasn’t going to tell him how he was beaten. How many times he was shot. Wasn’t going to tell him how certain he was of his own death. 

Instead he said, “he’s Doffy’s man through and through.”

“He’s been following me around lately, insisting on ‘supporting me through my grief’,” Sengoku snarled. Rosinante’s blood ran cold. 

Sengoku saw the fear in his eyes and softened. One of his hands came up to cradle the back of Rosinante’s neck- a familiar gesture from a time that Sengoku’s hands dwarfed his. 

“I haven’t let him anywhere near me,” Sengoku promised, and Rosinante could breathe again. 

“He’s probably waiting to see if I’ll get in contact with you,” he said. “...Which means Doffy isn’t sure I’m dead.”

That was a terrifying thought. 

Rosinante knew it would happen sooner or later. Knew that Doflamingo wouldn’t be able to write off his disappearing corpse as the work of wild animals for long. He was too paranoid for that. 

But still, imagining Doflamingo tearing through North Blue looking for him, looking for _ Law_, leaving his dog to follow at Sengoku’s heels… 

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Rosinante said. 

Sengoku laughed- a sharp, waterlogged sound. He cradled Rosinante’s face in his shaking, calloused hands. “_You_? I’m the one whose son has come back from the dead.” 

Rosinante made a noise embarrassingly close to a sob. “I never meant for you to think I was dead,” he promised. “But it wasn’t safe to contact you. I needed-“

“You were looking out for more than just yourself,” Sengoku cut him off, idly brushing a tear from Rosinante’s cheek. “You were looking out for that boy. The one with the Amber Lead.” 

“He doesn’t have it anymore,” Rosinante said, finally stepping out of Sengoku’s hold. 

“The Devil Fruit?” Sengoku asked, his expression serious. 

Rosinante nodded, trying not to tense too much. This would be the moment that decided if he would go back to the Marines, or be forced to run from _ two _ powers. 

He didn’t want to lose a father again. But he would do it, he would walk away, if it meant saving Law’s life.

Sengoku sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He ground his teeth. Rosinante held his breath. 

“We could spin it in Rosinante’s favor.” 

Garp’s voice was an unexpected shock. Rosinante had half-forgotten he was there. Sengoku had too, if his widening eyes were any indication. 

“What do you mean?” Sengoku asked, unexpectedly eager. The fact that he was entertaining the idea at all...

“The Donquixote Pirates stole the Devil Fruit,” Garp said, spreading his hands. “How could we know which member did it? Commander Rosinante had reason to believe he was compromised, so he escaped and took the kid and the Devil Fruit with him.” 

None of it was even _ really _a lie- Garp simply moved some things out of order. It could work, Rosinante realized, if people didn’t dig too deeply. There was only one problem.

“How do we explain the boy _ eating _ the Devil Fruit?” Sengoku asked, frowning the way he always did when he was deep in thought. 

Garp grinned. “An accident!” he laughed. “The brat was too sick to realize what he was eating.” 

Rosinante’s eye twitched. 

Sengoku glowered at Garp. “Who would believe someone ate a Devil Fruit by _ accident_?” 

“My grandson did it,” Garp said with a shrug. 

“Is your grandson an idiot?” Sengoku snapped. Rosinante burst out laughing as Garp’s face reddened. 

“It could work,” he said, before Garp could start a fight. He didn’t think Foosha Village could survive one of Sengoku and Garp’s brawls. “Late stage Amber Lead poisoning can cause hallucinations. Who could know that it didn’t for Law?” 

It was hard to mention that fact so casually. There was more than one time Law tugged at Rosinante, asking him to describe the world around them so he could be sure the poisoning hadn’t reached his brain. His mind was all he had, towards the end. He was so afraid of losing it. 

Garp grinned, triumphantly spreading his hands. “There we go! An easy solution.” 

Sengoku closed his eyes in a lightly pained expression. Rosinante chewed on his lower lip. 

“I wonder if we even need to say that much,” he said. 

“What do you mean?” Sengoku asked, his voice stern. 

He was speaking as the Fleet Admiral, then. Not as Rosinante’s father. 

Rosinante straightened up. “I took a sick child and a Devil Fruit away from the Donquixote Pirates. I was caught, and in that confrontation the Devil Fruit was lost. What more do I need to say?” 

He didn’t want the Navy focused on Law. He didn’t want _ anyone _ in power focused on Law. It wouldn’t lead to anything good. 

If it came out that Law was a survivor of Flevance… 

(A memory came to Rosinante’s mind of the Ohara incident. Of a little girl’s face on wanted posters.)

“Does anyone but you know that Law had Amber Lead _ specifically_?” he asked Sengoku. 

Sengoku’s shoulders slouched. “I doubt it,” he said, dropping the authority in his voice. “Piecing together the boy’s origin was… difficult, to say the least. It’s unlikely anyone will investigate him to the degree I did.” 

“Why?”

“Because I thought he might be the answer to what happened to you.” 

Rosinante’s mouth went dry. His heart stuttered. 

Sengoku smiled thinly. “If nothing else, it seems I was right about that,” he said. “I never recorded anything I found about the boy. You don’t need to worry about that.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, grounding himself the way he taught Rosinante to. 

“Could he keep up a lie you told him under scrutiny?” 

Rosinante’s mind came to a screeching halt. He could barely believe Sengoku was considering this. That he was _ planning _ for it. Rosinante did his best to gather himself, and focus on the matter at hand.

“Easily,” he told Sengoku.

He decided to leave out the fact that Law would take any opportunity he could to spit in the government’s face. Lying would be _ nothing _ for him. 

“What’s the plan, then?” Garp asked, a rarely heard seriousness in his voice. 

“We’ll deal with Vergo first,” Sengoku said with a nod. “We’ll try to bring any other spies down with him. We can spin Rosinante not checking in as intentional rather than him going AWOL. The boy…” he trailed off with a sigh. “We’ll work the boy into it.” 

“Law won’t go into Marine custody.” Rosinante decided now was as good a time as ever to bring that up. 

“Why not?” Sengoku asked, his voice sharp. That commanding bark never intimidated Rosinante as much as it did Sengoku’s troops. 

(Maybe it was because none of them ever found Sengoku sprawled out on their living room floor, singing nonsense songs to his pet goat as he fed her treats. That kind of thing softened one’s image of a man.)

“Flevance,” Rosinante said simply. “It’s a minor miracle that Law forgave me for telling him I _ wasn’t _ a Marine. Another miracle that he agreed to be civil with you.” 

“Civil?” Sengoku asked. 

Garp cut in. “Means the kid won’t pull a knife on you.” 

Sengoku stared Garp down. “Did he pull one on you?”

“Nah,” Garp said. “Only ‘cause he didn’t have a knife _ to _ pull. But your kid gave him one the other day.” 

Sengoku shot Rosinante a look. He raised his hands in defense. “I’m not leaving him unarmed when Doffy’s after him.” 

“How many years has Doflamingo spent grooming him?” Sengoku asked, and Rosinante grit his teeth. “How sure are you that he won’t go back to him?” 

“I’m _ very _ sure,” Rosinante hissed, his voice hard as he rolled his shoulders back and straightened up. 

(_Like a cobra rising to strike_, Doflamingo laughed, once.) 

He might not have been certain a few months ago, but any good will, any _ tolerance _ Law had for Doflamingo died when he shot Rosinante. He was probably higher than the average Marine on Law’s shit list, at this point. 

Sengoku had never quite figured out how to deal with Rosinante when he was angry. 

“I didn’t mean to… doubt either of you,” he said. The lie was so bad he flinched as he said it. 

But Rosinante recognized the intention, and forced himself to let it go. “Just… just don’t say anything like that around Law.” 

“I won’t.” 

Garp grinned. “This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

Rosinante sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to admit out loud that Garp was certainly right. 

✦✦✦

Garp was _ mostly _ right. 

Predictably, Sengoku had no idea how to act around Law. 

Even more predictably, Law hated Sengoku on principle. 

Rosinante was sure the only reason he didn’t bolt or try to attack Sengoku was because he attached himself to Rosinante’s side. He was intent on keeping his promise to be civil. Rosinante wouldn’t admit it out loud, Law would smack him if he did, but it was painfully endearing.

To Rosinante, at least. Sengoku looked just as ready to run as Law did. 

The meeting was agonizingly awkward and stilted. Thankfully, Garp brought Luffy to ease some of the tension. He was currently chatting Sengoku’s ear off in barely passable Grand, telling him a story about almost being eaten by crocodiles. 

Rosinante hoped it was just a story, but considering the alarmingly proud look on Garp’s face, it wasn’t. 

Luffy was simultaneously providing a distraction for Law, having offered Law his hand when everyone settled in Makino’s closed bar. Law was carefully experimenting with seeing how far he could stretch Luffy’s fingers, and trying to feel the rubbery bones beneath the skin. He was clearly having a wonderful time with it, if the grin crawling across his face was any indication.

The light in his eyes visibly unsettled Garp and Sengoku. Rosinante knew Law noticed this, and was fairly sure he was playing it up. 

“Luffy-ya, do you bleed?” he asked. Sengoku looked at him sharply. Luffy barely paused in his storytelling. 

“Just if I get cut!” he chirped, before launching into another story of almost getting eaten- this time by a large wildcat. 

Law only hummed, stretching Luffy’s skin and holding it up to the light to see the veins running below the surface. 

Rosinante leaned down and whispered to Law in Flevean, “_D__on’t be creepy on purpose_.” 

“_It’s not on purpose. I’m just curious_,” Law said, which was a weak defense, seeing as he stared Sengoku down every time he asked Luffy a strange question. 

Rosinante raised an eyebrow at him. Law caved, and heaved the most put-upon sigh Rosinante ever heard. 

“Hey, old man,” he called to Sengoku, which was hardly polite but _ definitely _ better than however Law was thinking of him. Sengoku’s eye twitched a bit at the disrespect, but thankfully he didn’t say anything about it. 

“You raised Cora, right?” Law asked. 

If Sengoku was confused by the name, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded. “I took him in when he was young.” 

Law stared at him for an uncomfortably long minute. Even Luffy fell silent to watch. 

“Then thanks,” Law said. 

Rosinante wouldn’t have been able to stop his smile if he tried. 

“I should thank you as well,” Sengoku told him, his lips twitching. “It’s my understanding that you saved his life.” 

Law nodded, shifting in a way that made it clear he was uncomfortable. Not with the praise, Rosinante knew, but with the _ reminder_. 

“I’m a doctor,” he said, simply, and went back to playing with Luffy’s hand. 

Rosinante shot Sengoku an approving look, both to thank him and to keep from pushing his luck. Luffy helped that as well, poking at Sengoku and asking him if he’d ever seen a Sea King. Garp took over answering that, tugging Luffy out of Sengoku’s personal space before he could start climbing on him. 

“_Are you doing alright_?” Rosinante asked Law. 

Law shrugged. “_I don't like this. Or him. But I get to kill two birds with one stone._” 

Rosinante did not get a chance to ask what, exactly, Law meant by that. 

“Luffy-ya,” he called, waiting till he had the other boy, and everyone else’s, attention. “Does this hurt?”

He brutally bent one of Luffy’s fingers until it touched the back of his hand. 

“No,” Luffy said, oblivious to the horrified adults around him. “Should it?”

“Yes.” Law smiled, all bared teeth. “Do your bones break?” 

“I don’t think so,” Luffy shrugged. Law lit up. 

Before anyone could stop him, Law braced Luffy’s arm and twisted his hand completely around. It was a clear, practiced movement that would break any other person’s wrist. Luffy laughed. 

“Can you move your fingers?” Law asked, briefly meeting Sengoku’s horrified stare. 

“Yup!” Luffy chirping, obligingly wiggling each one. 

“_That’s fascinating,_” Law muttered. Luffy grinned at him, as if he understood the compliment. It absolutely was a compliment, coming from Law. 

Law pinned Luffy’s wrist down and continued twisting it, like he was turning a corkscrew. Luffy went back to his conversation with Garp. 

Rosinante looked at Sengoku. He was staring at Law, one eye twitching, with a concentration similar to when he was putting together a puzzle. 

A slightly disturbing puzzle, in this case. 

“Cora, do you have a notebook?” Law asked, finally letting Luffy go and watching his wrist spin back into place with an almost manic fascination. His fingers twitched lightly. 

Rosinante knew all about Law’s hobby of small animal dissection. If it were anyone else Rosinante would find it unpleasant, but Law got so_ excited _ when he talked about veins, and nerves, and the way tendons strung a body together. It was a good thing Law had enough manners not to ask if he could cut Luffy open. Rosinante wasn’t sure Luffy was sensible enough to refuse. 

There was a small notebook and a pen in Rosinante’s pocket. He pulled them out and handed them to Law, who started writing frantic notes. 

“Is this… normal? For him?” Sengoku asked, watching Law write. 

Rosinante wished he could tell him it wasn’t. 

“Pretty much.” 

It was better not to tell Sengoku this display was _ tame _ by Law’s standards.

But Law’s curiosity was satisfied. Sengoku was deeply unnerved. Two birds with one stone indeed. 

✦✦✦

“The boy is certainly… unsettling,” Sengoku said, staring up at the windows over Makino’s bar. Law went to bed hours ago, and Garp left with Luffy not long after. After that, Rosinante and Sengoku settled behind the bar, passing a flask of rum back and forth. 

Rosinante looked at Sengoku, accepting the flask when he was offered it. He would wait to be offended. Sengoku might have a point beyond insulting Law. 

He could almost see why some people thought Law was unsettling, but he didn’t agree. Law was too easily flustered, too easily riled. Too fascinated by the most surprising things. Too genuine in his rage and his joy. Too _ small_. Rosinante struggled to see him as anything other than endearing. 

“But he’s your son.” 

Rosinante struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. “I don’t think he sees me as a father. I don’t think he _ could_.” 

From what he told Rosinante, Law’s father was an incredible man. A man that Law loved and admired. A man he had, at one point, wanted to be like. It wasn’t Rosinante’s place to compare himself to him. 

“It’s obvious that he loves you,” Sengoku said. He snatched the flask from Rosinante before he could knock the rest of the rum back in an impressive display of self-pity. 

(He knew Rosinante’s habits well. Half the reason they ever drank together was so Sengoku could be sure he didn’t drink too much.)

“He does.” Rosinante meant to agree, but the fear crawling up his throat turned the words into a question. 

Sengoku knew Rosinante well enough not to call it out. Instead he stood and grabbed Rosinante’s arms to haul him to his feet, and into a hug. Rosinante melted into the embrace. He clung to Sengoku like he did as a child. It was difficult, now that he was taller than Sengoku, but they managed.

“I have a week in Foosha,” Sengoku said, his voice rough and unsteady. 

Rosinante swallowed a sob. Nodded against Sengoku’s shoulder. 

“We can make a plan in that time.” Sengoku squeezed Rosinante sharply, then pulled back just enough to cup Rosinante’s face in his calloused hands. Tears ran tracks down his face, even as his lips curved up. 

“You’re _ alive_.” 

Rosinante hiccupped. He tried to bite down the feeling rushing up his throat before he remembered this was _ Sengoku_. This was his _ father_. Rosinante sobbed. He clung to Sengoku and _ wailed_, breaking down in a way he hadn’t since he was a child. Since the first time Sengoku made him feel _ safe_. 

It had been too much. 

Everything with Doflamingo. Living when he should have died. Law drifting every day between death and life. It was too much. 

It was all too much. 

Sengoku was steady as ever, holding Rosinante upright. Running a hand over Rosinante’s back, a hand through his hair. Taking clear, long breaths that were easy to match. Easy to fall into rhythm with, even if Rosinante’s chest rattled as he did. 

Sengoku didn’t try to soothe him. To hush him, or promise everything would be well. It would only set Rosinante off again if he tried. Instead, he held Rosinante close for as long as it took his grief to run dry. For as long as it took him to gather the pieces of himself together. 

When he straightened up, his hands stayed- balled tightly in the fabric of Sengoku’s coat.

Sengoku was wearing a smile Rosinante had never seen- the smallest tilt to his lips, his eyes pained and warm all at once. Rosinante untangled his hands from Sengoku’s coat, squeezing his shoulders before letting his arms fall to his sides.

Sengoku reached up to wipe the last tears from Rosinante’s face.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promised. Rosinante could only nod and watch him leave, too choked up to speak. 

Rosinante stood alone in the dark for a long time, breathing deeply and grounding himself as best as he could.

Once he felt he wasn’t about to start crying again, he slipped back inside. He made a bubble of silence around himself as he snuck into his and Law’s room. There was barely enough moonlight spilling in from the window for Rosinante to see where he was going. He used the small washbasin by his bedside to clean the makeup from his face. 

He knew he should regret the tattoos. But instead he found, time and time again, that he didn’t. They were a reminder of something wonderful just as much as they were a reminder of something awful.

There was a rustling sound behind Rosinante. He turned to find Law sitting up in his bed. 

“Cora?” he asked, his voice thick with exhaustion. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Rosinante said, stepping forward to ruffle Law’s hair. 

He lazily slapped Rosinante’s hand away. “I was already awake. Mostly.” 

Rosinante hoped Law would sleep better once he was cured, but he didn’t really expect it. Amber Lead was far from the only thing that plagued him.

“Insomnia again?” 

Law didn’t answer. Instead he ducked his head, his clenched fists twisting the bedsheets. 

“Law?” Rosinante prodded, kneeling by his bedside. 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Cora,” Law snapped, so sharp that Rosinante flinched back. 

“Wh-”

“You’re an _ idiot_.” His voice was a hiss- sharp and cold. “You’re an idiot who’s so used to his Devil Fruit he can’t tell how damn _ loud _ his voice is.”

Rosinante’s mouth went dry. He took a shuddering breath. 

He almost didn’t notice Law start to cry; his shoulders shaking, his small chest heaving.

“I already said we’re family, didn’t I?” 

Rosinante’s body moved before his mind could catch up, opening his arms for Law to fall into. 

“I’m sorry,” Rosinante breathed, as Law’s arms wound around his neck. “I’m sorry for not listening.” 

“Just don’t do it again,” Law snarled, but the sound was softened by the way he clung to Rosinante. 

He let himself relax into the hug. Let himself trust that Law wasn’t going anywhere. Wouldn’t be lost to him in the night- to sickness or to Doflamingo. 

“I love you, Law.” 

Law’s hold tightened. 

Rosinante had a son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think the other chapters are quite as long as this one lmao


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all!! This is a pretty early update because I'm trying to get past the halfway point of this fic before I get completely overwhelmed by my end of semester workload and the holidays. 
> 
> (I want to give a quick content warning for a panic attack in this chapter, but I don't think it's particularly graphic)
> 
> I appreciate all the comments and kudos so much <3
> 
> As always, feel free to come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://sweetscentences.tumblr.com/). I'm also gonna link [ComparedFever's tumblr](https://comparedfever.tumblr.com/) because this fic wouldn't exist without her and she's basically The Best

Sengoku brought a stack of heavy medical books to his third meeting with Law. Two of them were impressively sized encyclopedias, while another was titled ‘Medical Oddities of the East and West Blues’, and the last was called ‘Traditional Remedies in Modern Times’. Law snatched them up immediately, ignoring Sengoku’s explanation that they were sitting unread in his study for months. 

Rosinante was certain he just bought them. The last title was the only one he could see appealing to Sengoku, but he hardly had the free time to read a book that size.

The sentiment was sweet.

“You know he can’t be bought, right?” Rosinante asked, lighting a cigarette and his sleeve. Sengoku put the fire out with a few practiced slaps before it could spread. 

“I’m not a fool,” Sengoku huffed. His sharp eyes were fixed on Law as he flipped through the books. “I don’t expect his affection. I’m only hoping for tolerance.” 

Tolerance was a realistic goal, in Rosinante’s opinion. 

“You’re halfway there already.” 

Law had stopped looking at Sengoku like he wanted to rip him apart. Or at least he had when Sengoku was out of uniform. Any reminder of Sengoku’s position would snap him back to loathing. 

He hated the Fleet Admiral. He could stomach Rosinante’s father. 

It was a difficult balance for all of them, Rosinante knew. But they were trying. Rosinante for them, and them for Rosinante. It warmed Rosinante’s heart.

“Bringing Vergo down is going to be tricky,” Sengoku said. 

Rosinante hummed. Took a deep drag from his cigarette. Pretended he didn’t notice Law stop reading to listen in. He was surprisingly subtle about it. Rosinante wasn’t sure if Sengoku noticed. It made him unreasonably proud. 

“You’ll need my testimony, won’t you?” Rosinante asked. He already knew the answer. It was obvious from the way Sengoku flinched. 

Rosinante nodded. He wouldn’t make Sengoku say it, not when he was so visibly stressed by the thought.

“He’ll try to drag the trial out as long as possible. Maybe implicate me too. Law will need to be under guard the whole time. I don’t want him brought into this.” 

Law tensed- the slightest hitching of his shoulders. Rosinante ignored it and settled on meeting Sengoku’s steely eyes. He tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette into the floral ashtray Makino set out for him. 

“I won’t let Vergo walk away from this.” 

Rosinante would kill him if he did.

Sengoku nodded. “I know.” 

He understood what Rosinante didn’t say, no matter how much he might deny it. 

Rosinante always tucked away the crueler parts of himself. The parts that reminded him of Doflamingo. He wasn’t as bad as his brother, he knew. But he wasn’t _ soft _either. Not by anyone but Doflamingo’s standards. Sengoku chose not to see it sometimes, the same way that Rosinante did.

But there were reasons Rosinante made a good spy. Reasons he made a good sniper. Reasons he made a good _ pirate_. 

Some awful part of him would always love his brother. 

He never loved Vergo. 

It would be easy to put a bullet between his eyes. 

Too easy, if Law’s life was on the line. 

Rosinante could picture it clearly. Could practically _ feel _ the smooth curve of a trigger beneath his finger. He tapped his cigarette against the edge of the ashtray again to distance himself from the thought, from the image.

“He’ll either get the firing squad or Impel Down,” Sengoku said, watching Rosinante carefully. 

Impel Down was more likely. Rosinante’s lip curled. He took a long drag from his cigarette. Part of him wanted Vergo to bleed out. Another part of him wanted Vergo to rot slowly in the darkness. 

He supposed both could be arranged. After all, he still had a few contacts in Impel Down- Marine and criminal alike. Life was cheap there. It wouldn’t be too hard to hire an assassin. 

But that could wait.

“What do you think?” Rosinante asked Law. He didn’t startle like he’d been caught eavesdropping, and he didn’t pretend not to know what Rosinante was asking. 

“Impel Down is meant to be hell, right?” Law’s eyes were fixed on Rosinante, bright and cold. Somehow more hateful than they were when he first met Rosinante.

The world shaped Law into something that could be cruel, just like it did Rosinante.

Just like it did Doflamingo. 

Rosinante nodded. Law’s lips twitched up into a sharp, amused smile. 

“He should rot,” he said simply, and turned his focus back to his book. It was opened to a diagram of a human heart. Law traced it with a careful finger. His shoulders lost some of their tension.

“We’ll push for Impel Down, then,” Rosinante told Sengoku. His cigarette had burnt down to almost nothing. He lit another.

Sengoku watched Rosinante and Law carefully. He agreed with a sigh, and took a sip of his tea. 

“Would an Admiral be enough of a guard?” he asked. 

He got a sense of Law over the past few days. He knew that his relation to Rosinante was the _ only _ reason Law would be in the same room as him. He understood that one Marine hovering over Law would be more palatable than twenty. But still…

“Depends on the Admiral.” 

If Rosinante had any say in the matter, which he _ damn well did_, Akainu wouldn’t get within a hundred feet of Law. He was an unapologetic and unrivaled bastard. His ideas of justice and righteousness would have Law out for blood in _ seconds_. 

(Sometimes, they did for Rosinante too. He just had a reason to hide it. If he were ten years younger, he might throw that aside and attack Akainu when he had the impulse anyway.) 

“Aokiji owes me a favor,” Sengoku said. “But it’s a simple enough task that he might do it just to avoid the trial.” 

“He hasn’t changed much since becoming an Admiral?” Rosinante hadn’t seen him in a few years, certainly not after his promotion. 

Sengoku huffed an unfriendly laugh. “He has more authority to be lazy now.” 

Rosinante grinned. “Aokiji could work.” 

He was powerful. Easily strong enough to take on Doflamingo or his best. But he also wasn’t likely to bring up the Navy on his own. Unlikely to act like a Marine. Unlikely to be offended by Law’s hate. 

Aokiji could work. 

✦✦✦

Sengoku and Garp left at the end of the week, before dawn. Garp pulled Rosinante into a brief, crushing hug that forced all the air out of his lungs. After releasing Rosinante, Garp offered Law a handshake that was, predictably, refused. Then he started off into the woods to say goodbye to his grandsons. 

Luffy was the only one he brought around Sengoku intentionally. Sabo made two delightfully chaotic appearances, one of which ended with Garp’s pants catching on fire. Ace, on the other hand, was hidden and carefully spoken around. 

It was an impressive act of subtlety, from Garp. Sengoku might not have noticed what, exactly, was happening. Rosinante certainly did. 

He had a few ideas. None of them were good.

There was something eerily familiar about the cut of Ace’s grin. Something about the shape of his face, the ridge of his nose. Something about the fact that, according to Law, Ace thought his father was a demon. 

For all that they had been enemies, Garp and Gold Roger respected each other. Enough that Garp might grant any final wish Roger had. Enough that Garp might even lie to Sengoku, if it meant keeping that _ wish _ safe.

It was a messy situation, if that was the case.

“Garp really could handle that better,” Sengoku sighed, speaking Rosinante’s thoughts aloud and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Rosinante raised an eyebrow. Law glared up at Sengoku, but that wasn’t a noteworthy change in his expression. 

Sengoku sighed again. “I’m not going to ask what it is. It’s better if I don’t know.” 

“Plausible deniability,” Rosinante laughed. 

Sengoku’s lips twitched up. His expression softened and he reached up to pull Rosinante into a hug. Rosinante fell into it, resting his head on Sengoku’s and holding him close. 

“I’ll make arrangements immediately,” Sengoku promised, pulling back enough to meet Rosinante’s eyes. “We’ll do this right.” 

“We have to,” Rosinante said, reaching down to ruffle Law’s hat. His nose wrinkled and his lips curled up, but he didn’t slap Rosinante’s hand away when it rested on his head. All bark and minimal bite.

“It was good to meet you,” Sengoku told Law. He didn’t try to hug him or offer him a hand. He knew better, by now. 

Law looked torn between aggression and sincerity. 

“You could be worse.” 

It seemed he settled on both. 

Sengoku smiled. He’d grown used to, and maybe even _ fond _ of Law surprisingly quickly. Law had a sharp-edged charm, and Sengoku had a soft spot for children who lost everything but kept on living. Rosinante knew he inherited that from him.

“We won’t be here much longer,” Rosinante told Sengoku. 

Last night he pinned a map of each of the four Blues to a wall in his and Law’s room. The dart Law threw landed where neither of them wanted to go, but they were both too stubborn to throw it again. 

“Where are you headed next?” Sengoku asked. He understood the twitchiness, the unease, that gripped Rosinante in the past days. 

Sitting still too long meant death. 

“North Blue. Swallow Island,” Rosinante said, choking down his fear. Law pulled Rosinante’s hand off his head and squeezed it. Some of the anxiety sitting heavy in Rosinante’s chest uncoiled. Eased. 

Sengoku nodded. Rosinante pretended not to notice the tight, worried pull of his mouth. 

“Hiding under his nose. I’ll run an investigation on the Marines stationed there.” 

They both knew Rosinante would run his own, slightly less legal investigation. Neither of them mentioned it. He knew as well as Garp did there were things Sengoku shouldn’t be told. 

“Be safe,” Sengoku said, his voice rough as he pulled Rosinante down to press a kiss to his forehead. His eyes settled on Law. “Both of you.” 

“We’ll try,” Rosinante said, blinking away the stinging in his eyes.

It was the closest thing to a promise he could make. 

✦✦✦

Rosinante and Law stayed in Foosha another week, until Law was well enough to travel and the need to move was eating Rosinante alive. The mayor and Makino came to see them off, along with Garp’s grandsons. Rosinante was glad for that. It meant he could pull Ace aside as Luffy held everyone else’s attention. 

Everyone but Law, who kept half his focus on Rosinante, and half on Luffy’s story. 

Ace looked at Rosinante suspiciously when he invited him over, but he sat next to Rosinante on the dock without complaint. 

What Rosinante saw of his wild, self-loathing temper reminded him of Law. A younger, less homicidal Law, but the sentiment remained. He didn’t know what it was about caustic, hate-filled children that made his protective instinct flare up so much. 

(He could figure it out easily, if he wanted to. But he really, _really_, didn’t.)

“My brother is a monster,” Rosinante told him, and Ace’s eyes snapped up to his. “_Truly _ a monster. He killed our father when he was around your age. Shot him and cut off his head. Now he’s the reason Law and I are on the run.” 

His father’s death was one of Rosinante’s earliest memories. One of his most vivid memories. The smell of the gunpowder. The smell of the blood. The sound of the body hitting the ground, still, _ lifeless_-

Rosinante took a sharp breath. 

“Our father was the kindest man I knew.” 

Rosinante wished he was more like his father. As generous, as _forgiving_ as he had been. As gentle as his romanticized memory made him out to be. 

Death had a way of making men into saints. 

“But Doffy still became what he is. I still… I still became what I am.” 

Rosinante found violence disturbingly palatable. He accepted it as a part of life when he was far too young. The careful way Sengoku raised him didn’t change that. 

Once, when Rosinante was still a recruit, a ship he was on was attacked by pirates. He and the three other trainees were forced into the battle. Forced to fight and kill for their lives. The other recruits spent the days after sick with grief and guilt. But the only thing that bothered Rosinante was the fact that the ship’s seasoned Marines kept asking if he was alright. He killed four men, and lost no sleep over it. Not even once in the decade since.

Ace’s brows pinched in a frown. “But you’re really nice,” he said. 

Rosinante forced a grin. “Maybe I am. But I am not my father. No one is.” 

Ace ducked his head. Rosinante gently ruffled his hair. It was the same rich black as Law’s but thinner, softer. 

“Everyone deserves the life they’ve been given, and the freedom to make it what they want.” Rosinante waited until Ace met his eyes to go on. “You chose your brothers. I chose my father, chose my son. There’s more to a family, more to a _ person_, than blood.” 

Ace’s head dropped down again as he scrubbed at his eyes. Rosinante didn’t push him, only ruffled his hair again before walking back to Law. 

“_What did you say to make him cry_?” Law asked, his voice sharp and teasing. Rosinante lightly cuffed the back of his head, and ignored his furious hiss. 

“Thank you for everything,” Rosinante told the mayor and Makino, who watched the whole exchange wearing matching grins. 

“A friend of Garp is a friend of ours,” the mayor said, holding out a hand for Rosinante to shake. 

“You’re always welcome here,” Makino promised, stealing a quick hug from Rosinante before offering Law her hand. 

It pulled his attention from where he was watching Sabo and Luffy dogpile onto Ace. 

He took Makino’s hand and shook it carefully. Rosinante couldn’t bite down his grin if he tried. 

After a few more goodbyes, he and Law boarded a ship set for the edge of East Blue. They perched at the rail as the ship drifted out of the harbor, waving to the group at the end of the dock. 

“Say ‘hi’ to Gramps for us!” Luffy cried from his perch on Ace’s shoulders, his arm bending unnaturally as he waved. “Torao! _Go fuck yourself_!” 

Rosinante choked. He turned to glare down at Law, only to be startled when a loud laugh burst out of him. 

Law doubled over, winding an arm around his stomach. His eyes crinkled so tightly at the corners they almost shut. A smile Rosinante had never seen before stretched across his face. 

The admonishment died on Rosinante’s tongue. Warmth bloomed in his chest. 

A few Northern swears weren’t so bad, really. Not if it meant Law would smile like that. 

✦✦✦

The trip to Swallow Island was long, but bearable. When they crossed into North Blue, Law spent most of his time on the ship’s deck, breathing in the cold air with clear lungs. It was an incredible feeling- the cold in his mouth, his throat, his chest. 

It was biting and so, _ so _ familiar. It had been years since Law was able to breathe so clearly. He got used to choking on every breath. Got used to the heavy, burning feeling in his chest that grew every day.

Breathing without it was difficult to adjust to. He kept waking up and thinking, for a horrible moment, that curing himself was a dream. Standing on the deck, feeling the sting of the frozen air, it helped Law remember that it was real. If he was still sick, he wouldn’t be able to imagine that feeling. 

He didn’t need to explain it to Cora. He was good at understanding that kind of thing. Good at reading Law. 

He took to joining him on the deck, sitting next to Law with his back against the rail. 

The sun was long since set. Law’s dreams the night before were unusually awful. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, so instead he leaned against the rail, his chin propped up by his hands. 

Cora didn’t ask anything, didn’t try to drag Law to bed. Instead he settled next to him, warm by Law’s side, and tipped his head back on the rail to watch the stars. 

They shone so brightly in the Northern sky. 

The familiar feeling of _ silence _ brushed across Law. Before he could ask why, Cora spoke. 

“Celestial Dragons come of age when they’re fifteen years old,” he said, his voice a quiet rumble. 

Cora coming from a family of nobles was still something Law struggled to wrap his head around. He wasn’t a coward like Flevance’s royal family was. He didn’t see himself as a god, like Doflamingo did. He was only a man. A _ good _ man, maybe, but a man nonetheless.

A human being, like Law. Fallible, flawed, and _ wonderful_. 

Cold wind rushed across the ship. It filled Law’s nose, his mouth, with the smell and taste of salt water. He breathed deeply, trying to hold onto it, and shuffled closer to Cora. 

“There’s a special celebration. They call it a ‘saint ceremony.’ I went to my cousin’s.” 

Cora had a strange look on his face, something between wistful and pained. Law turned and sat down, pressing himself against Cora’s side and letting him wrap an arm around him. Cora was a tactile person. It was no secret that he craved touch. That he wanted to hold and be held. Law would offer him that comfort, when he could. It was the least he could do.

He would never admit that it was a comfort to him too.

“At the ceremony, a star is dedicated to you.” 

Cora pointed up, and Law followed the long line of his arm to a very familiar pair of stars. The star on the right was bold and bright. The left had the same brilliant glow, but was difficult to see when looked at dead on. One had to look to the left of it, to catch it in the corner of their eye to truly see it. 

“My mother said that the star on the right would be for my brother, and the star on the left would be for me.” 

It suited them. Cora was just as bright, as brilliant, as Doflamingo. But he was difficult to pin down. To understand. To see. 

But Law knew the trick to seeing that star. He was learning the tricks to see Cora too.

“We called them the bells, on Flevance,” Law said, resting his head against Cora. “The left one always pointed South East. I’d follow it home from the hospital with my father.” 

It was a fond, fading memory. The long hours looking over his father’s shoulder, watching him work. The way his father would wind his own scarf around Law’s neck before they stepped outside. The two of them walking home through a world of white- snow and buildings blending together, glittering as brightly as the night sky. The warmth of his father’s hand around his, his other hand pointing up to the left bell, laughing and telling him to _ look, Law, look_.

Was his laugh warm, or was it sharp like Law’s?

“I can’t remember his voice,” Law whispered, and Cora pulled him closer. 

His father’s voice, the finer details of his face, they were fading. His mother and Lami’s too. The sounds of their laughs. The little songs Lami sang to herself as she went about her day. The way his parents slow-danced together in the living room, after long nights spent apart. The way they dragged Law and Lami into joining, once they were caught out of bed. The old prayers his mother whispered as she combed through Law and Lami’s hair. How Lami’s hand felt when it curled around Law’s. 

All of it gone. All of it stolen. All of it burnt away.

Last night Law dreamt of them- their faces blank and white, their voices gravelly and garbled. Their hands reaching for Law. Grabbing him, tugging at his clothes. Dragging him forward as a fire started at their feet and grew to swallow them. Grew to swallow Law with them.

Law shuddered. He pressed his face against Cora’s chest and tried to breathe, tried to calm the frantic pounding of his heart. 

The smell of death crept into his nose. Crept into his throat. 

Death and fire, cloying and thick.

The smell of sickness. The smell of burning flesh.

Law choked on it.

He thought he heard a voice, but it was drowned out by the pounding of his heart and the ringing in his ears. His throat was closing up. A hand rubbed slow circles onto Law’s back. Something against him rose and fell slowly. Law forced himself to match his gasping breath to the feeling, digging his nails so sharply into his palms they drew blood. 

The pain was real. The smell wasn’t. 

The only _ real _ smells were cold air and stale cigarette smoke. 

Law’s heart slowed. He breathed. 

He was in Cora’s lap, pulled up to lean against Cora’s chest. Some part of Law wanted to rip himself away from Cora, to snarl that he wasn’t a child, that he didn’t need to be coddled, and go hole himself up in some corner of the ship where Cora wouldn’t see him break down. But Cora was warm, and safe, and humming a low, smooth melody. Law’s head was foggy with fear and exhaustion. 

Cora was _ safe_, carefully taking Law’s hands and cleaning the blood from them with a cloth he pulled from his pocket. 

“Think they’ll need stitches, doc?” Cora asked, his fingers gentle as they brushed the cuts. 

Law huffed, the sound more amused than annoyed. “Don’t be stupid.” 

Cora didn’t say anything about the way Law’s voice wavered. Instead he grinned down at Law, bright and silly. Law tucked his head back against Cora’s chest so he wouldn’t see him smile back. 

When Cora let go of Law’s hands, he wound them into Cora’s shirt. He didn’t protest, didn’t warn Law against getting blood on his clothes. Didn’t say anything about the way Law’s hands were shaking.

“It’s a good star for you,” Law said, and Cora’s chest rumbled with his hum. 

“When do people come of age on Flevance?” 

Law grounded himself with the sound of Cora’s voice. Deep and calm. Alive and steady.

“Sixteen,” Law told him. “If you weren’t studying medicine you’d pick an apprenticeship. If you were, you’d graduate from the medical school and choose a mentor.” 

Law’s parents fought, teasingly, over which one of them would get Law. They had both known he’d pick his father, if only because surgery caught his interest more than anything else. 

“You started young then, if you’d be done school at sixteen.”

Law nodded, let his eyes fall closed. Let himself relax into the warmth of Cora’s hold. 

“Eight years old.” 

Two years before his world fell apart. 

Law ignored that thought. He focused on the sound of Cora’s heartbeat. A heavy lullaby. 

“We should do something special for your sixteenth birthday, then,” Cora said. 

Law liked that idea. Liked the thought of Cora still being there in two years. 

“Do I get a star?” Law asked, his teasing tone swallowed by a yawn. 

Cora laughed. “If you want one.” 

His heartbeat was a steady sound. Proof that he was alive. Proof that Law saved him. Proof that they _ both _ got to live. 

Law remembered something then. The blood in Lami’s hands didn’t circulate properly. They were always cold when she held Law’s.

He drifted off without realizing it. 

✦✦✦

They settled onto Swallow Island quickly; Rosinante buying a small cottage at the edge of the port town with the money Sengoku gave him. Within two weeks the cottage started to feel like a home. Never more so than when Rosinante and Law sat in front of the fireplace, watching the evening snowfall and carefully figuring out Law’s Devil Fruit. 

It had a strange, unnerving quality to it, but Law was a quick learner. The notebook he was working in was filling up faster than Rosinante expected. 

Rosinante spent the days investigating the island’s Marines. There was only one small base on the island, settled at the heart of the port town. Rosinante hadn’t found anything dangerous yet- only three men with gambling problems and one woman who bought her wife flowers every day. Both habits swallowed an impressive amount of money. 

Law spent the days doing god knew what. Rosinante was fairly sure he was exploring the island. He didn’t stop Law, only made sure he still had the knife Rosinante gave him. 

When Rosinante was seventeen, he found a small collection of parenting books in the back of Sengoku’s study. He flipped through some of them, hoping to find something to tease Sengoku about, only to see careful notes scribbled in the margins of each one. It was too endearing for Rosinante to mock, and he put the books back. Luckily, no one was there to see him shed a few tears over it. He remembered one of the books mentioned allowing your child to have the freedom they needed. He had the feeling Law needed more freedom than most.

Rosinante realized he should have asked what, _ exactly_, Law was getting up to when he brought a polar bear cub home. 

Rosinante was sitting in the front room, drinking tea while reading letters and reports from Sengoku, when Law damn near kicked the front door open. The bear was draped half over his small shoulders, shuffling on its hind feet. 

It took Rosinante a moment to recover from the strange sight. It took him a moment longer to realize that the high-pitched voice apologizing over and over in Grand was the _ bear _ and not Law adopting a weird accent. 

Rosinante took another sip of his tea. Not a bear cub, then, but a mink. 

The mink was covered in various scrapes and bruises, red staining its white fur. Law’s knuckles were bloodied. 

Law didn’t acknowledge Rosinante, dragging the mink over to the couch and pushing it down. Then Law disappeared under the couch, reappearing a moment later with a first aid kit. It was one of _ four _ scattered around the small cottage. There was so little that Law called his own in the last few years, so Rosinante might have been spoiling him a bit to make up for it. Medical supplies seemed to be Law’s favorite thing to collect. Medical supplies and strange coins. Law was a little magpie when it came to hoarding coins. It was downright _ cute_, even if Law threatened to cut off the tips of Rosinante’s fingers the last time he poked at his collection.

It wasn’t like he was going to follow through on the threat. Even if he did, he would reattach Rosinante’s fingertips before too long. It was a neat trick Law learned with his Devil Fruit. Rosinante hoped he wouldn’t take it any further, but knowing Law he _ absolutely _ would.

Law cleaned and neatly wrapped his bloody knuckles with a practiced ease. The mink shot Rosinante worried looks as Law set about treating its wounds. 

Rosinante took another sip of his tea, carefully closing the folder he was flipping through. 

Sengoku would send someone to bring Rosinante to the trial soon. Would send Aokiji to protect Law. But Rosinante could think more about that another time.

“Law,” he called. “Did you beat up this poor mink?”

The mink made an anxious noise, attention snapping back and forth from Rosinante to Law as Law tied off a bandage on its arm. 

“I didn’t beat _ him _ up,” Law hummed, grabbing one of the mink’s paws to pluck something out of it with a pair of tweezers. 

The emphasis wasn’t lost on Rosinante. He raised an eyebrow. 

The mink whined, pained and sharp, as Law succeeded in pulling out what he was looking for. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he cried, ducking his head down and covering it with his free paw. 

Protecting himself. Hiding. 

“Don’t apologize,” Law snapped. “It would’ve hurt more if I was slow,” he said, bandaging the paw in his hand and ignoring, or not noticing, how the mink flinched away from him. 

“Law, I think you’re scaring him,” Rosinante told him. Law tied off the last bandage and sighed. The second he released the paw, it joined the other in covering the mink’s head. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Law said. His voice didn’t sound particularly soothing, but it was enough to have the mink uncurling some. “_I’m _ the one who’s sorry, Bepo.” 

The mink’s arms dropped from his head. He stared at Law, silent and wide eyed, for so long that Law started scratching at his arm in discomfort. 

“You _ did _ say your name was Bepo, right?” Law asked, his cheeks darkening. 

“You remembered?” 

Law looked offended. “Of course I did,” he hissed. This time, Bepo didn’t flinch away from the sharp tone. 

Instead he started blubbering, dragging Law into what was probably an extremely fluffy hug. He rubbed his face against Law’s shoulder as Law squawked, flailed, and tried futilely to escape the hug. After a while he gave up, wrapping one arm around Bepo’s shoulders and awkwardly patting his head with his free hand. 

Rosinante wished he had a camera with him. This was probably the cutest thing he had ever seen. 

Law’s eyes turned to Rosinante, to the grin on his face. His expression sharpened into something venomous. His teeth bared. Rosinante took a sip of his tea to hide his smile, trying not to laugh. Law was scratching Bepo’s ears, seemingly without realizing it. 

After a few minutes, Bepo calmed down enough for Law to slip from his hold. He sat on the couch next to him, and Rosinante joined them, setting his mug on the table. 

“Not that you’re in trouble, but would you mind explaining what happened here?” Rosinante asked, carefully taking Law’s hands to check his bandages. 

They were perfectly wrapped, as Law’s always were, but Rosinante still liked to make sure of it. 

Rosinante worried about Law more than he would ever say, would ever show. Law had no patience for coddling, he would think Rosinante considered him weak. Rosinante knew damn well how strong Law was. That was half the reason he worried as much as he did. Checking Law’s bandages was one of the few ways he indulged that worry. One of the few things Law _ allowed _ as well.

“I was coming back from Wolf’s when I found Bepo getting beaten up. I brought him back here because I didn’t have anything to help on hand,” Law said, taking back his hands when Rosinante let them go. 

Rosinante had a few questions. 

No, he had many. So many he wasn’t sure where to start. 

He settled on asking, “Who’s Wolf?”

That seemed to be the most important thing to know. 

“Some weird old man who lives up the mountain,” Law shrugged. “He’s been letting me see his experiments.”

Rosinante had _ more _ questions. He wound his fingers together and rested his hands in front of his mouth. He took a grounding breath. 

“Law,” he started. “Do you understand why that’s a concerning sentence?” 

Law looked up at him, confusion and irritation warring on his face. Rosinante bit his lip. 

“Not weird like _ that_,” Law hissed, before shrugging. “Besides, he’s _ old_. It’s not like I can’t handle myself.” 

“I am not encouraging you to commit murder.” 

Part of Rosinante couldn’t believe he just said that. Another part of him was surprised he never said that _ before_. Bepo made a worried noise. Law’s glare sharpened. 

“I never said anything about killing him,” he huffed. 

Rosinante didn’t think he had any right to be so offended. Even if he mellowed out _ considerably_, murder was still a perfectly valid concern when it came to Law. Rosinante loved him, but that love didn’t mean he was delusional. 

“Will you take me with you the next time you go to see Wolf? I’d like to meet him,” Rosinante said. Law’s sharp expression softened with understanding. 

“Sure,” he said, quickly killing any sentiment in the moment by stealing Rosinante’s tea. The mug looked like a bowl cradled in Law’s hands. It was endearing enough for Rosinante to forgive the theft. 

He also forgave it because it meant Law might have an appetite that day. His eating habits were unpredictable at best. Some days he was ravenous. Other days he could barely stomach simple broths. Rosinante would take any chance to get something in Law’s stomach, even if that meant giving up a cup of his favorite tea. He could always make another.

“Back to Bepo, then,” Rosinante hummed, offering the mink his most reassuring smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Bepo nodded frantically, wringing his paws. “You too, mister, um-”

“Cora,” Law said, looking up from the tea. “I call him Cora.” 

“Mister Cora, then,” Bepo smiled. At least, Rosinante thought he smiled. His teeth were worryingly sharp. 

“You don’t need to be so formal,” Rosinante promised. “You can just call me Cora, or Rosinante. Any friend of Law’s is a friend of mine.” 

Bepo looked a bit overwhelmed, his black eyes wide and shining. He didn’t seem to know what to do with kindness. It was as heartbreaking as it was surprising. Rosinante wouldn’t have expected Law to have the patience or gentleness for a personality like Bepo’s. 

Not that Law was behaving gently by anyone’s standards but his own. 

“You’re a mink, right?” Rosinante asked. “How did you get here? We’re a long way from the New World.” 

Bepo curled in on himself again. “I fell off Zunesha’s leg,” he mumbled. He sounded near tears. His sniffed loudly, his black button nose twitching. “I got lost. It’s mean here. Everyone wants to hurt me.” 

Rosinante’s mouth went dry. Law glared up at him before, shockingly, leaning against Bepo’s side. 

“Why didn’t you fight back?” Law asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’ve got claws. And teeth. It’s not like they were strong.”

He had to be talking about whatever fight he pulled Bepo from. Rosinante hoped whoever was involved hadn’t been killed. Or maimed. Really, Rosinante just hoped they were able to walk away in the end.

Bepo drew his legs up to his chest, tucking his head against them. “Zepo said humans break easily. That I have to be careful if I meet them.” 

Law knocked back the rest of Rosinante’s tea, dropping the mug on the table and glaring at Bepo. It seemed his patience had run out. 

“You don’t have to be careful if someone’s hurting you,” he snarled. “Do you _ want _ to die?” 

Bepo uncurled enough to stare at Law. “No,” he whined. “I don’t.” 

“Then don’t _ let _ yourself be killed. Fight. Back.” Law’s teeth were bared, his chest heaving, his hands curled into fists. “You can’t expect anybody to save you. If you want to live, then _ fight _for it.” 

Rosinante set a hand on Law’s back. He didn’t shrug it off. He uncurled his shaking hands, breathing slowly and carefully. Bepo stared at him, slack jawed, his black eyes shining. 

“_Are you alright?_” Rosinante asked. After a moment, Law nodded. “_You like this bear, don’t you?_” 

He waited for Law to nod again before turning to Bepo. There weren’t many people Law liked. If he’d gotten attached to Bepo this quickly… 

“You’re welcome to stay with us, if you have nowhere else to go,” Rosinante offered, meeting Bepo’s wide eyes. “No one will hurt you here.” 

A moment later, Rosinante had a lapful of sobbing polar bear mink. Law shot him a smug look, which was quickly wiped off his face when Rosinante grabbed him and hauled him into the hug. He protested, _ loudly_, but he didn’t try to pull away. After all, Bepo was _ incredibly _ fluffy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If them going back to Swallow Island feels contrived.... that's because it is lmao. The Heart Pirates are dumbass clowns that I love with my whole heart. The original quartet HAVE to make an appearance in this fic because I make the rules. With that said, I've never read the Law novel so the inspiration for the next chapter especially came from reading the wiki synopsis of it, but this is an AU so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I hope you're all still enjoying this self-indulgent mess <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year y'all!!! I hope you've had a good holiday season, in whatever you do (or don't) celebrate. Thank you for being patient with me with this fic, I had an intense end of the semester (a huge shoutout to ComparedFever for agreeing to be part of research I was doing with only a few hours warning) and then a very eventful holiday and birthday. The other day was the first time I've had some completely free, pressure-free downtime in weeks. 
> 
> I hope you like this chapter! I can't thank y'all enough for the response to this fic. It's really meant the world to me <3
> 
> (Also want to give a bit of warning for some medical stuff in this chapter, but I don't think it's too graphic and it doesn't last long)

It was a week before Rosinante got to meet Wolf. Law would deny it, but Rosinante knew he was waiting for Bepo’s wounds to heal before dragging them all up the mountain. It was a surprisingly difficult journey. When they reached Wolf’s house, Law made the briefest introduction possible before dragging Bepo off to explore the woods. He left Rosinante and Wolf standing awkwardly in the doorway, Rosinante nearly crouching to avoid the lamp over the door, and Wolf shifting uncertainly on his feet. 

Rosinante didn’t know if Law was being considerate by leaving them, or punishing Rosinante for _ something_. Knowing Law, it was probably the latter. 

Wolf’s head barely came past Rosinante’s waist. Unlike most people, he wasn’t daunted by Rosinante’s height. He tipped his head back to stare Rosinante down. His eyes, lined by deep wrinkles, were sharp and clever.

Wolf cleared his throat. “Would you like to come inside?” 

Rosinante nodded, letting Wolf lead him through a house cluttered with strange machines. He didn’t have the slightest clue as to what any of them were meant to do. Wolf brought him to a homey looking kitchen with a small table and a set of chairs, and a wall covered in incomprehensible blueprints. Wolf waved Rosinante into one of the chairs, and he did his best to fold himself into it. 

“Want tea?” Wolf asked, flicking a switch on an oddly deformed kettle sitting on the kitchen counter. 

“I’d appreciate it,” Rosinante said. 

Wolf stretched to the tips of his toes to grab two mugs from the top shelf of a cabinet, then set them on the table and tossed a tea bag into each. The kettle hissed, impossibly early. Rosinante stared at it as Wolf poured hot water into the mugs. Wolf caught his curious look, and grinned widely. 

“I made a few adjustments to it,” he said, his voice rich with pride. “It boils water in just a minute!”

The kettle made a strange sound. Wolf glared at it sharply. 

“Well, it does when it _ behaves_.” 

“What does it do when it isn’t behaving?” Rosinante asked, unable to push down his curiosity. 

“Nothing major, just a bit of electrocution,” Wolf shrugged. “It’s perfectly safe!” he promised when he saw the worry on Rosinante’s face. 

Despite its proclaimed safety, Wolf put the kettle back on the counter, far away from them. He set a small dish on the table and dropped his tea bag onto it before settling into his chair. Following his example, Rosinante pulled his tea bag out and set it on the dish. For a moment the two of them sat there, cradling their mugs and carefully sipping the scalding tea.

“So you’re Law’s dad, then?” Wolf asked, before the silence between them became too awkward. 

“I am,” Rosinante grinned, warmth blooming in his chest. “He’s been telling me all about your inventions. Thank you for indulging his curiosity.” 

“It’s hardly any trouble,” Wolf huffed, a blush rising on his cheeks. “He’s a very bright young man. You should be proud.” 

Rosinante tucked his pleased smile into his mug. He was glad to meet Wolf, glad to see that for all his eccentricities, he was harmless. Or at least, harmless to _ Law_. Wolf took an impressively long sip of his tea, and raised an eyebrow at Rosinante. 

“Is he going to wind up as tall and gangly as you?” he asked. 

Rosinante laughed. No one had called him gangly since he was a _ teenager_. “I doubt he will. We aren’t related by blood.” 

In truth, Rosinante had no idea how tall Law would wind up being. The Amber Lead clearly stunted his growth- he was shorter than any fourteen year old Rosinante had seen. Beyond that, Rosinante didn’t know how tall Law’s parents were. It wasn’t something he was willing to ask, either. 

“That’s probably for the best,” Wolf hummed. “I can’t imagine it’s easy getting around.” He nodded to how Rosinante was sitting- his feet flat on the floor and his knees nearly tucked up to his chest. He needed to angle his chair so his knees wouldn’t brush the table.

Rosinante chuckled. “It has its difficulties.”

It was easy to fall into conversation with Wolf after that. There was a gruffness to him, but kindness too. A genuine joy when he talked about his inventions. An excitement lighting up his eyes when Rosinante spotted the hunting rifle leaned against the wall, and mentioned he once used the same kind. 

Rosinante didn’t use a rifle when he was with the Donquixote Pirates. But in the Navy he was a sniper before he was a spy. 

Wolf happily picked the rifle up, setting it on the table and talking Rosinante through all the adjustments he made to it. It had been a long time since Rosinante had someone to talk about guns with. It was surprisingly nice.

Or at least it was until they were interrupted by the sound of Wolf’s door slamming open. 

“Cora! Wolf!” 

Law voice was frantic. Rosinante’s blood ran cold. He dropped Wolf’s mug and hurried to the front room. 

For a moment he froze. 

Law and Bepo were laying two boys out on the large table in Wolf’s front room, both of them covered in gore and barely breathing. One’s stomach was a bloody wreck. The other was missing an arm, the limb tucked under one of Law’s. But Rosinante barely registered that. All he could focus on was Law. 

Law, wheezing as he breathed, blood staining his arms, his chest, his neck, his face. 

There was so much of it.

If the blood were his, Law would be dead.

“Wolf,” Law barked, his eyes focused just past Rosinante. “Do you have a medical kit?” 

“It’s- uh- under the table,” Wolf said, his voice shaking and his face drawn as he looked at the boys. 

Rosinante moved before his mind could quite catch up, kneeling next to the table and pulling the heavy medical kit out from under it. Law clambered up onto the table and Rosinante set the kit next to him. 

Law looked at Rosinante. His eyes were clear and focused, free of any pain or fear. He nodded, ever so slightly. It was enough to break Rosinante out of his haze. He took a deep, grounding breath, ignoring the smell of blood in the air, and nodded back.

Law’s lips twitched up sharply before he turned away from Rosinante and towards the boys. Then he paused. He closed his eyes, held a hand out in front of him, and took a breath. 

“Room.” 

Rosinante and Law found, early on, that it was easier for Law to use his Devil Fruit when he had a focus point. A word to center himself with. An already familiar blue light bloomed from Law’s hand. It grew to cover him and the table. 

For a moment, Law swayed. He steadied himself quickly, snapping open the medical kit and pulling on a pair of gloves. 

“Wolf,” he called. “Do you have anything here for a blood transfusion?” 

“I do,” Wolf nodded, shaking himself and slipping out of the room. 

Law set to work on the boys, cleaning and stitching wounds. He worked with the same careful focus he always did, unbothered by the gore and the pained sounds the boys made. 

Bepo wasn’t so unbothered. He shuffled anxiously, pawing at the blood on his clothes and crying softly. 

Rosinante realized he didn’t know how old Bepo was. 

He was pulled from that thought by Wolf returning with the materials for a transfusion. “Do we know their blood type?” 

“X,” Law answered, before a confused look passed across his face. Rosinante wasn’t sure how he could know that. It seemed Law wasn’t either.

“That’s good,” Wolf said, hauling himself up onto the table and rolling up his sleeves. “I’m type X as well.” 

Rosinante wished he could argue, wished he could step in and offer his own blood. Wished he could do _ anything _ to feel useful. 

Law tapped gently at Wolf’s arm, finding a vein and sliding a needle in. Bepo whimpered at the sight. Rosinante set a hand on his back and gently led him away from the operation. 

The closest room appeared to be a workroom, littered with scrap metal. There was a sturdy looking bench set against one wall and an unmade bed against the other. Rosinante lead Bepo over to the bench, and he practically collapsed onto it. Rosinante sat next to him, pulling Bepo into his side. Bepo latched onto him immediately, shaking for a few long minutes. 

“What happened?” Rosinante asked, switching to Grand, when Bepo finally seemed calm enough to speak. 

“We saw an explosion,” he whined, fluffy arms squeezing Rosinante. “We went towards it and found them. All the blood…” he shook again. Rosinante rubbed a hand up and down his back. 

“Are they going to die?” Bepo asked, looking up at Rosinante. His black eyes were wide and shining with tears. His button nose twitched as he sniffled.

Rosinante wished he could promise Bepo the boys would live, but he couldn’t find it in himself to lie. 

“I don’t know.” 

Rosinante pulled Bepo back to his side. He hoped it was some comfort. 

Later, he would be proud of how quickly Law took control of the situation. How easily he took command of the room. But for now, all Rosinante could do was worry. Worry and do his damnedest not to feel _ useless _ as he rubbed Bepo’s back.

He didn’t know anything beyond basic first aid. He’d only be in Law’s way if he went to try to help.

After a few hours, Bepo fell asleep, exhausted from stress and crying. Not long after that, a pale Wolf shuffled into the room, dropping down onto the bed and making its springs creak. Rosinante settled silence around Bepo, and turned to him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, falling back into Northern now that Bepo was asleep and wouldn’t be confused by it. After a moment, Wolf nodded. 

“I’m hardly a young man anymore, but I’m still tougher than most,” he laughed, then dragged his hands down his face. He rolled his head to look at Rosinante. 

“Your boy has the Op-Op Fruit,” he said. 

It wasn’t a question. 

“He does.” 

Rosinante let one of his arms drop from Bepo’s shoulder, resting a hand on the bench. He didn’t move for the knife in his back pocket. Not yet. His reach was long enough that he would only need to take a single step. Would only need to make one clean lunge.

“Does he know about the Eternal Youth Operation?” Wolf asked. Rosinante stilled. 

“The what?” he asked, his hand drifting closer to the blade. 

When Rosinante looked into Wolf’s history, he didn’t find any possible connection to Doflamingo. But that didn’t mean there couldn’t be anything else.

Something that looked disturbingly like pity crawled across Wolf’s face. “I heard about the fruit years ago,” he explained. “Supposedly, its user can grant a person immortality. At the cost of their own life.” 

Rosinante’s blood ran cold. 

His heart pounded in his ears. 

Somehow, in the hectic mess of the past months, Rosinante forgot about that.

That was why Doflamingo wanted the fruit. Why he wanted Rosinante to have it. 

Why he would want_ Law_. 

Rosinante grit his teeth. His free hand curled into a fist. He took a deep breath, tried to cool the rage burning in his chest. 

He would kill him. If Doflamingo ever came after Law again, Rosinante would kill him. 

He wouldn’t hesitate again. 

He couldn’t afford to. 

“You should be careful not to mention that to anyone,” Wolf said. His eyes were fixed on Rosinante, serious and unblinking. “Should make sure Law doesn’t too.” 

“I will.” Rosinante hissed the words through gritted teeth. It took a minute for him to collect himself. “Thank you for telling me.” 

Wolf nodded and turned his head back to the ceiling. “It’s a dangerous world for a Devil Fruit user,” he hummed, world-weary and worn. 

“It’s a dangerous world for everyone.” 

Wolf huffed a tired laugh. “That may be true. But a child shouldn’t have to know that.” 

“Law’s known it for years,” Rosinante snapped. Wolf turned to look at him, but Rosinante didn’t meet his eyes. He busied himself by looking down at Bepo, and carefully rubbing his back. 

“...I didn’t mean to offend,” Wolf said, after a tense silence. 

“It’s alright.” Rosinante took a deep breath. His temper was running too close to the surface, driven there by stress and fear. It was unfair to take it out on Wolf. All he was doing was showing concern. 

He didn’t deserve Rosinante’s paranoia. Didn’t deserve his gut-reaction of violence.

“I’m going to check on Law,” Rosinante said. He carefully eased Bepo off of him and onto the bench, only standing when he was sure Bepo wouldn’t wake. “I’d appreciate if you stayed with Bepo.” 

“Of course. I have a spare room upstairs, if you’d like to spend the night.” 

“That’s probably a good idea,” Rosinante said, nodding his thanks and slipping from the workroom. 

The front room was quiet and dark, only lit by the moonlight spilling in the windows. The boys on the table were heavily bandaged, but miraculously still breathing. Law was slumped next to them, his head cradled on his arms. 

Rosinante brushed the back of his hand across Law’s forehead, afraid and half expecting a fever. Mercifully, there wasn’t one. Law stirred under Rosinante’s touch. He blinked awake, staring up at Rosinante with bleary eyes. 

“Cora?” he mumbled, scrubbing at his eyes and tucking a yawn into his fist. 

Law’s hat had slipped off of his head and onto the table. Rosinante ran a hand through his messy hair, smiling when Law leaned into it. 

“Are these boys going to be alright?” Rosinante asked, careful to keep his voice quiet. 

Law shrugged. “I’m not sure. If they make it through the night, I think they will be.” 

“You did an incredible job,” Rosinante told him, tension slipping from his shoulders when a tired smile lit Law’s face. “Wolf offered us a room for the night.” 

Law nodded and dragged himself to his feet, only to stumble forward and land on Rosinante’s chest. Rosinante caught him easily, lifting him in one arm and letting him rest his head on Rosinante’s shoulder. 

“_My head hurts_,” Law whispered, one of his hands curling around Rosinante’s shirt collar. 

Rosinante’s heart ached. He tucked his head against Law’s, and took a moment to breathe. 

He did the right thing, in giving Law the Op-Op Fruit. Law would be dead without it. It was the right thing to do, he _ knew it_. But it didn’t make seeing Law in pain any easier to stomach. 

“_Go to sleep, Law_,” Rosinante said. “_You’ll feel better once you’ve rested_.” 

Rosinante only hoped that was true. 

✦✦✦

Rosinante woke the next morning with his back and legs aching. He was far too tall for Wolf’s spare bed. He was also uncomfortably warm, but he supposed that made sense when he had a polar bear mink pressed against his left side and a clingy teenager attached to his right. Rosinante didn’t want to wake them. He tried his best to slip out of their holds, making it most of the way before one of his legs caught in the sheets and dropped him onto the floor. 

Face first. 

Loudly. 

“Um, Cora? Are you alright?”

Rosinante looked up to find Bepo leaning over the edge of the bed and staring at him with wide, worried eyes. Rosinante groaned. From the other side of the bed, Law cackled. 

“You are a terrible child,” Rosinante told him. Law laughed louder. 

Rosinante untangled his leg from the sheets and swiped at his nose to make sure no damage was done. Thankfully, it wasn’t broken. It wasn’t even bleeding. The pain was fading fast, and Law was still laughing. 

Law’s laugh was a jagged thing- sharp and biting. It always caught on a wheezing sound, as though his body was unused to it. Unpracticed. It was quickly becoming one of Rosinante’s favorite sounds in the world.

He had started days in worse ways. 

It took them a few minutes to make their way from Wolf’s guest room, with Law grabbing one of Bepo’s arms to keep his balance as they went down the stairs. They met Wolf in his front room, where he was talking quietly with the two boys. 

They lived through the night. The redhead whose stomach was mauled lay perfectly still, save for the wild gesturing of his arms as he spoke with Wolf. The black-haired boy, the one who lost an arm, was sitting up. When Law entered the room, his attention fixed on him immediately. He clumsily reached over to grab the redhead’s shoulder. The redhead dropped his arms and turned his head. His eyes widened when they landed on Law.

“You,” the black-haired boy breathed. “You saved us.” 

Law ignored him, using Bepo as a support to haul himself onto the table. As soon as he was up, he pushed the boy back down.

“You’ll tear your stitches,” he scolded. 

The boy took a deep, gasping breath. “How do I have both arms?” he asked, something hysteric edging into his voice. “One of them was- I _ know _ it was-”

“Penguin,” the other boy wheezed. It took Rosinante a moment to realize he was calling a name. 

He set a shaky hand over Penguin’s and squeezed it. Penguin stared at him for a moment, his face softening. When he turned back to Law, there were tears gathering in his dark eyes. 

“Thank you.” 

Law shrugged off the thanks, like Rosinante knew he would. He opened the medical kit and pulled on a pair of gloves. 

“I need to change your bandages,” he said. “If you sit up on your own again, I’ll take your arm back off.” 

Penguin twitched nervously and the other boy wheezed a laugh. Law’s glare fixed on him. 

“And if you even try to _ move, _ I will rip that hole in your gut back open,” Law snarled. 

There was a moment of stunned silence. Penguin broke it. 

“_Yeah_, Shachi,” he muttered, turning his head and dramatically wiggling his eyebrows at the redhead.

The redhead, Shachi, violently pinched his hand in retaliation. Penguin stuck his tongue out and pinched him back. Law smacked their hands apart before they could escalate into a full pinching war. Then Law looked down at Penguin’s hand. 

“I guess you still have feeling and movement in the arm,” he noted, tilting his head in curiosity. 

Apparently, Penguin didn’t think about which hand he was using to pinch Shachi. He gaped at it, carefully moving his fingers, touching each one to his thumb before curling them into a fist. A few tears spilled over his cheeks and onto the table.

Law ignored the tears and Penguin’s testing of his arm. He only reached out to stop Penguin from moving it too much. He didn’t say anything as he worked, silently changing Penguin and Shachi’s bandages and checking their stitches. There were ointments applied and painkillers given. Law briefly made a room, smaller than the one the night before, and did _ something _ Rosinante couldn’t see before letting it fall. He slouched backwards when it did, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. 

He needed a minute to rest, it seemed. 

“What happened to you two?” Rosinante asked. 

“There was a boar, and a bomb,” Shachi, said, his voice dry. “It went about as badly as it could.” 

“Could’ve died on the spot,” Penguin muttered. Shachi huffed a bitter laugh. 

“It’s a long way from any town,” Wolf said, crossing his arms over his chest in a way he probably thought looked stern, but really only gave the impression he was cold. “What were you doing out here?” 

Penguin winced. “We live here. In the woods.” 

“Why?” Rosinante asked, worry rolling his stomach. 

“Because there’s nowhere else.” 

Shachi’s voice was startlingly venomous. Cold, and final. Penguin reached over and grabbed his hand. They both stared resolutely up at the ceiling, avoiding everyone’s eyes. Unease crawled up Rosinante's throat. 

There were plenty of reasons two kids could be living on their own in a forest. But none of them were good. Not that Rosinante knew of.

Immediately, he thought of the cottage. It was really only big enough for him and Law. The recent addition of Bepo meant there was truly no room for two more boys. 

“You could stay here, if you need a place to go,” Wolf said. When the room’s attention fell to him, he threw his hands up. “I’m not leaving two kids out in the cold,” he growled. “Not if it means they’re going to get mauled by boars or _ blown up_.”

“I’m sixteen,” Penguin hissed, surprisingly frantic. 

One of Wolf’s sharp eyebrows climbed up. “So? _ Everyone _ in this room is a kid compared to me. Do you want a place to stay, or not?”

“What does it cost?” Shachi asked. He and Penguin wore equally serious expressions, but Penguin’s eyes were fixed on Wolf- terrified and furious all at once. His hand went white-knuckled gripping Shachi’s. 

Kindness wasn’t free to them. 

That was a horrible lesson for a child to have learned. 

“Hell if I know,” Wolf huffed. “Help me with my inventions? Don’t make too much of a mess? I can’t think of much besides that.” 

Penguin and Shachi still seemed suspicious. Penguin’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He looked one wrong word away from throwing himself between Shachi and Wolf. Thankfully, before he could, Law straightened up with a sigh, catching his and Shachi’s attention. 

“You won’t really be able to move much for the next week at _ least_,” Law said, then tucked a yawn into his hand. “If you don’t like being here, you can leave after that, I don’t really care. But I’ll be pissed off if you ruin my work.” 

Rosinante bit his lip at Law’s bluntness, half amused and half worried how the boys would react.

Apparently, they operated on a similar wavelength to Law. The hostility left Penguin’s expression, and he looked at Shachi. Shachi’s eyes flicked from Penguin, to Law, and back again. He smiled.

“That… that makes sense,” Penguin said, cautiously hopeful. Shachi’s smile widened, and he nodded. 

“Good,” Law said, sliding off the table to where Bepo was waiting to steady him. “I’ll come back tomorrow with better painkillers.” 

He turned to Rosinante then. His face was carefully blank, but Rosinante knew him well enough to see through that mask. The pain in his eyes was obvious. He was putting up a front. 

“_How badly does it hurt?_” Rosinante asked. Law winced- the slightest twitching of his eyes. 

“_It’s bad_.” 

Rosinante nodded. It didn’t take long to make his excuses to Wolf- thanking him for his hospitality and kindness. He said a quick goodbye to Penguin and Shachi, practically dragging Law and Bepo out the door. 

Almost as soon as they were outside, Law’s knees buckled. Bepo yelped, but Rosinante was expecting it. He dropped down to catch Law, lifting him up in his arm and resting him against his shoulder- a mirror of the night before. This time, Law was shaking, pulling his hat over his eyes and ducking his face against Rosinante’s neck. 

“_The light hurts_,” Law cried. Rosinante held him tighter. 

A migraine, then. 

“Law?” Bepo called. Law flinched at the sound. 

Rosinante set his free hand on Bepo’s head. “He’s alright,” he whispered. “His head hurts, so we’re taking him home to rest.” 

Bepo still looked worried, but he nodded. He took Rosinante’s hand between his paws. Some of the tension knotting in Rosinante’s chest unwound. 

✦✦✦

Law’s migraine lasted for three days. The day after it broke Rosinante was in a less populated corner of the port, sitting on a dock with his legs dangling over the water while he smoked. He watched a figure coming closer and closer, waving once he thought he’d be in view. 

Rosinante only knew of one man who could bike across the sea. 

Not five minutes later Admiral Aokiji, dressed in plainclothes, stepped onto the dock. Rosinante wordlessly offered him a cigarette. He accepted it, sitting down next to Rosinante and pulling out his own lighter. 

“Good to see you’re still alive,” he said, exhaling a neat ring of smoke. “It would’ve been a pain to deal with Sengoku if you were dead.” 

Rosinante grinned, crooked and teasing. “Good to see you’re still laidback as all hell.” 

“Is that an insult?” 

“In this case? It’s a blessing,” Rosinante laughed. 

Aokiji gave him a considering look. In truth, he was difficult for Rosinante to read. It was unnerving. Rosinante _ hated _ not being able to read people. But Aokiji’s expression was inscrutable as ever. 

Rosinante would never show his discomfort though. 

Discomfort was weakness, and weakness was blood in the water with men as powerful as Aokiji. With men as powerful as Doflamingo.

Finally, Aokiji huffed a laugh. “Sengoku told me your kid hates Marines.” 

Rosinante nodded, and took a drag of his cigarette. “You’ve got a decent chance of being attacked.” 

Ninety percent could be considered a decent chance. Law’s hate had a habit of outweighing his survival instinct. That was if he even had one, really. Rosinante knew that _ spite _ and _ rage _ were the biggest factors in Law’s survival for a long time. 

“No offense, but I don’t think a kid will be able to do much to me,” Aokiji said. 

“Law’s pretty creative,” Rosinante told him. His voice came out a bit more proud than he intended. Law managed to sneak up on _ him_, after all. “But honestly? As long as you don’t act like a warden or a babysitter, you should be fine.” 

“So I don’t need to spend every hour looking over his shoulder?” Aokiji asked, his voice downright hopeful. 

“Best if you don’t.” Rosinante took another drag, tried to swallow the fear crawling up his throat. “Just stay on your guard for anything relating to Doflamingo, and have an idea of where Law is in case anything goes wrong.” 

Aokiji sighed and leaned back on his hands, cigarette balanced between his lips. “Sounds easy enough.” 

Rosinante grit his teeth, and carefully ground his cigarette out on the dock. It left a small circle of ash, an almost unnoticeable burn.

He turned to Aokiji and smiled warmly.

“If anything happens to him, I will kill you.” 

Aokiji grinned back at him, all bared teeth, his glasses tipped down his nose. He had the sharp, calculating eyes of a predator. “You’ve got a bit of a mean streak, don’t you, Captain?” 

“Captain?” Rosinante asked, not breaking their stare-down. 

“Rumor is, there’s a promotion waiting for you back at HQ. Doesn’t sound like they’ll let you decline this one,” Aokiji said. “The ship bringing you in should arrive by nightfall.” 

“I’m guessing Vergo hasn’t just confessed and made all our lives easier,” Rosinante sighed. He would deal with the thought of being forcibly promoted later. 

And by that, he meant he would ignore it until it happened.

“The trial is Vergo’s only shot at saving his own life,” Aokiji hummed, some dangerous edge of him softening as he took a deep drag of his cigarette. He looked away from Rosinante and towards the horizon. “It’s understandable. He wants to live.” 

“And _ I _ want him neatly tied up on a ship bound for Impel Down, or marched in front of a firing squad,” Rosinante laughed. “But we don’t all get what we want, do we?” 

That inscrutable look made its way onto Aokiji’s face again. 

“You don’t talk like this around Sengoku, do you?” 

Rosinante’s smile sharpened. Aokiji was more observant than he led people to believe. Rosinante would respect it, if it wasn’t affecting _ him_. 

“I’m getting all my nastiness out before the trial,” Rosinante lied through his teeth, bared in a grin. 

Surprisingly, Aokiji didn’t call him on it. 

Instead he asked, “are you introducing me to your kid, or am I staying out of sight?” 

“Best if you don’t sneak up on Law,” Rosinante said, dragging himself to his feet and stretching, his knees and spine popping. “Best if you don’t mention Ohara, either.” 

For a brief moment, Aokiji froze while he stood. A barely noticeable stilling. It would be easy to write it off as a trick of the eye. Rosinante bit down a smile. Aokiji might have been a predator, but Rosinante was a _ hunter_. A death threat was one thing. The promise of a trap, ready to _ ruin _ Aokiji, was another.

Aokiji nodded. He didn’t panic. He didn’t bristle and demand to know what Rosinante knew. Instead, he held out a hand for Rosinante to lead the way.

“Sounds easy enough,” he said, the easy, casual tone of his voice unchanged. Rosinante respected it, albeit a bit grudgingly. 

He lead Aokiji on a long, winding way through the port town, before arriving at the doorstep of the cottage. It was an unassuming home, its only noticeably odd feature the tall doorway. Rosinante figured the people who built the cottage were drunk. The ceiling of the first floor was at least thirteen feet high, while the second floor was a short seven. It was an obvious mistake, which was half the reason Rosinante could afford it, but it fit Rosinante and Law perfectly. The private spaces of the first floor had become Rosinante’s, while the second floor was Law, and now Bepo’s, domain. 

The high ceilings suited Aokiji as well. He looked pleasantly surprised when he stepped inside and could stand without slouching. 

“Nice place,” he hummed, taking in the well worn couch and slanting bookcases. Rosinante expected them to be crowded by medical texts before too long. They built shelves on the second floor, but Law’s collection was growing at an impressive rate.

“I’d like it to be a home,” Rosinante said. “It would be better to raise Law in one place, instead of dragging him across the seas. Want some tea?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Aokiji followed Rosinante to the cramped kitchen, leaning in the doorway as he shuffled around. Tea was practically the only thing Rosinante could make reliably. 

Reliably, of course, meant without setting himself or what he was making on fire. Law would say that Rosinante lit himself every other time he put the kettle on the stove, but Law was a smug little liar. 

“I’m guessing raising him in HQ wasn’t an option,” Aokiji said when Rosinante pressed a mug into his hands. 

There were plenty of families that settled in and around HQ. They were the perfect picture of Marine life. Rosinante briefly imagined Law, wearing a child’s Navy uniform, smiling and saluting for a camera.

(The mental image was, in all honesty, more than a little bit disturbing.)

Rosinante snorted. “He’d probably burn it down.” 

It sounded enough like a joke, but Aokiji still raised an eyebrow. 

“Sengoku didn’t mention _ why _ he hates the Navy so much.” 

It was a painfully unsubtle attempt at fishing. Part of Rosinante was insulted. Another part of him understood this was how people normally spoke. 

Such a shame for Aokiji that Rosinante wasn’t normal. 

“I’d imagine he didn’t.” Rosinante grinned. “I wouldn’t recommend asking Law about it either.” 

In official reports, Law was listed as an orphan of an unknown background, rescued from the Donquixote Pirates and currently in Rosinante’s custody. Rosinante’s report of Law eating the Op-Op Fruit was caught up in an administrative mess and ‘misplaced’. None of it was illegal, technically, but it was the most questionable thing Rosinante ever got Sengoku to agree to. 

They both knew what would happen if the World Government found out Law survived Flevance. They both knew what the Navy would do if they found out Law had the Op-Op Fruit.

Law’s life would always be his own. Rosinante would make sure of it. Sengoku was willing to look the other way for Rosinante, and Rosinante was willing to take advantage of that for Law.

Aokiji snorted and took a sip of his tea. “Am I right in assuming the kid’s halfway across the island while you decide if I can be trusted with him?” 

Rosinante’s smile sharpened into something meaner. Something more honest. Aokiji really was smarter than people gave him credit for. He could bounce back and forth from apparent obliviousness to wit in an instant. He realized Rosinante preferred things said flat out. 

If this went well, maybe he and Rosinante could be friends. He was certainly the least rage-inducing Admiral of the three. Rosinante might go so far as to call him amicable.

Rosinante liked having friends in high places. He blamed Sengoku for that. 

“Not quite halfway across the island,” Rosinante admitted. He walked to the den-den mushi sunning itself on the windowsill and dialed an already familiar number. 

“Your kid is a cheat,” was the first thing Wolf said when he answered. 

“What’s he done this time?” Rosinante asked, not bothering to hide his amusement. He knew by now that Wolf wouldn’t be offended.

“He counts cards,” Wolf huffed. “Would’ve robbed me blind if I’d bet anything. He’s teaching his little lackeys how to do it too.” 

He could only be talking about Shachi and Penguin. Maybe Bepo too. Rosinante imagined all of them huddled in a circle, sharing different tricks for cheating at cards. Penguin and Shachi seemed the type to know at least a few. Poor Bepo’s paws probably weren’t dexterous enough to manage some tricks. 

Rosinante laughed. “That sounds like Law.” 

He didn’t mention that _ he _ was the one who taught Law how to count cards in the first place. Pride bloomed in his chest. He probably needed to talk to Law about subtlety though. It was no fun if you got caught.

But then again, maybe for Law the fun was in getting caught and escaping punishment. Rosinante could see that being the case, could easily imagine Law- smug as all hell and dodging a crowd he robbed just as they realized what he did. 

Rosinante should teach him a few tricks for escaping a crowd unseen.

“Would you get Law to come home?” Rosinante asked. Wolf grunted his agreement before hanging up. 

Rosinante turned to Aokiji. 

“Wolf lives deep in the mountain forest. Not many people from this town know about him,” he said. “Law will probably spend most of his time there, while you’re here.” 

Aokiji nodded, dropping onto the couch and crossing his long legs. “I’m guessing you’ve looked into him.” 

“A parent has to know these things,” Rosinante said with a laugh. He grabbed a folder from his window desk and passed it to Aokiji as he sat next to him. 

As Rosinante drank his tea, Aokiji flipped through the file. Wolf’s record was there, as well as information on the local townspeople and Marines. 

“I suppose there’s no point in asking where you got all this,” Aokiji said, amusement creeping into his voice. Rosinante smiled at him.

(He hoped it was a mysterious kind of smile, but Law said he looked like a smug dumbass every time he caught Rosinante smiling that way.)

Nothing in the file was _ technically _ illegal for Rosinante to have. The way he put together the file was another matter entirely. 

Aokiji had to know that, but he didn’t press. Investigating Rosinante for _ anything _ would probably take more effort than he was willing to expend.

Instead, he silently read through the folder, asking the occasional question as the day slipped by. Rosinante alternated between drinking tea and chain-smoking as he paged through his remaining notes on the Donquixote Pirates. Vergo tore most of Rosinante’s information to pieces on Minion Island, but Rosinante had enough memorized to throw a wrench in Doflamingo’s plans. 

After a few hours the front door opened, and Bepo shuffled inside. It took a moment for Rosinante to notice he was carrying Law in a piggy-back ride. 

“What happened?” Rosinante asked, standing and walking over to them. 

Law eased himself off Bepo’s back, scratching his ear affectionately as he did. “I got a bit tired, that’s all,” he told Rosinante, but his eyes were fixed on Aokiji. He was practically radiating hostility. 

“Hey,” Aokiji called, offering Law a lazy salute. 

Law flipped him off. 

Before he could say anything awful, Rosinante covered his mouth with a hand. Law dropped his middle finger and immediately started slapping at Rosinante’s wrist. 

The full force of his glare fell on Rosinante. 

“Could you at least wait until I’m _ gone _ to be a rude little shit?” Rosinante asked, far more affectionate than scolding. 

Law’s eyes narrowed. He bit Rosinante’s hand. 

Rosinante was surprised he didn’t do that immediately. He let Law go and looked his palm over. He wasn’t bleeding, which meant Law wasn’t _too _pissed about the whole thing. 

He was, however, as pissed as Rosinante expected about Aokiji’s presence. He stayed as far away from Aokiji as possible when Rosinante made introductions, choosing to attach himself to Bepo’s side. (Law’s hat and Bepo’s _ everything _ were leading Rosinante to believe Law had a soft spot for fluffy things. He was awfully fond of Rosinante’s feathered coat too.) Thankfully, Law didn’t attack Aokiji. He settled on making snarky comments and glaring at Aokiji like he _ personally _ ruined Law’s life. 

That was perfectly fine, in Rosinante’s opinion. 

He wasn’t expecting them to get along. He was only expecting Law to agree not to intentionally avoid Aokiji. Law did easily enough. He understood the situation as well as Rosinante did. 

Doflamingo could try to take him any time. His life was in Aokiji’s hands. 

Fear was making Rosinante queasy. Law would never admit it, but Rosinante knew him well enough to see he was afraid too. It was obvious in the way he held himself- curled small, tucked against Bepo or Rosinante. It was obvious in the way he spoke- sharp tongued and snapish. 

It was obvious in the way he kept looking at Rosinante like he was going to disappear. 

Like he wasn’t going to come back. 

Not long after the sun set, a Marine ship arrived in the port, ready to take Rosinante. Law and Bepo came down with him to the docks, Aokiji hanging back a polite distance. 

Bepo had a death grip on Rosinante’s hand. Law spent the last two hours glaring fiercely at him. 

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Rosinante told them. He kneeled down to give Bepo a quick hug, laughing when Bepo nuzzled him. His fur tickled Rosinante’s nose. 

“You’d better come back,” Law hissed when Rosinante let go of Bepo. He crossed his arms to hide his shaking hands. 

Rosinante pulled him into a hug. Law’s arms immediately wound around his neck. There wasn’t anything he could tell Law that would make him feel better. Nothing he could promise about a future they couldn’t predict. Instead, Rosinante settled on pressing a kiss to the crown of Law’s head.

“Be careful,” he whispered. Law squeezed him fiercely. 

“You too.”

Rosinante could promise him that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The humble, extremely chaotic beginnings of the Heart Pirates in this AU because I love them. There will be more of this quartet in the next chapter, as well as a healthy dose of both angst and fluff. I only have a little bit more to work on with the last chapter of this fic, and hopefully I'll have it up soon. Now that I have a bit of time, I want to keep working on the sequel to this fic and the other fics in this AU I have planned out. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to post, things have been pretty hectic for me lately and there was some major reworking that needed to happen with this chapter. I hope you all like how it turned out. Thank you all for reading up to this point, and leaving comments and kudos and messaging me. You're all absolutely wonderful <3
> 
> (This fic never would have come to be without [ComparedFever](https://comparedfever.tumblr.com/), who is an incredibly powerful person and an even more incredible friend. Thanks for always letting me watch you play video games my gay.)
> 
> Feel free to reach out to me on [tumblr](https://sweetscentences.tumblr.com/)! I'll be working on part two of this fic when I can, but I want to have at least half the chapters done before I start posting it. I'll probably post some more fics in this AU along the way. 

Law didn’t like Aokiji. 

He knew the situation could have been worse- he could have been left with an entire regiment of Marines. He could have been dragged to some Navy base to be watched. Aokiji was probably the best option there was, but that didn’t mean Law was _ happy _ with it. 

Cora was the only Marine he’d ever be comfortable with. The only one he’d be willing to sleep under the same roof as. 

It was a good thing Aokiji wasn’t expecting him to like him. He made that clear as soon as they got back to the cottage after seeing Cora off. 

“I’m not here to babysit you,” he said, sprawling out on the couch. “Let me know generally where you’re gonna be, and I’ll do my best to stay out of your hair.” 

Law was glad Aokiji laid down. He was just as tall, if not _ taller _ than Cora, but he didn’t slouch. Law hated being loomed over. Hated feeling small. It didn’t help that Aokiji was a dangerous man. 

He could kill Law easily, if he decided to. The thought made Law’s stomach twist, but more in fury than fear.

He grounded himself by grabbing one of Bepo’s paws. Bepo made a small, happy sound. Law ignored it in favor of glaring down at Aokiji. 

“Do you think I’m going to vanish out from under your nose, or something?” he asked, his voice sharp, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. 

“I’m _ not _ gonna guess how this is gonna go,” Aokiji grunted, pulling a sleeping mask out of his pocket and putting it on. “All I know is that if something happens to you, I’m as good as dead. Your dad made that _ damn _ clear.” 

Despite himself, some of the tension in Law’s chest unwound. 

He hadn’t had a father in a long time. To him, a father was someone in a crisp white coat, with dark amber eyes that crinkled into laugh lines at the corners. Law didn’t think that could be replaced. Didn’t think _ he _ could be replaced. But maybe a _ dad _ was something different. Maybe it could be someone with a too-wide smile, a too-bright laugh, and rust-red eyes.

Maybe that was what Cora could be. 

Maybe that was what Cora already _ was_.

The thought warmed Law. He quickly got caught on another one.

“You’re scared of _ Cora_?” he asked Aokiji, a bit incredulous. 

Aokiji was an Admiral. Cora was a soft-hearted klutz who tripped over his own feet and cried over romance novels when he thought Law wasn’t looking. Who laughed at his own awful jokes. Who bundled Law up in his coat and his arms on the coldest nights of their journey. Who looked at a dying child full of hate and saw someone deserving of love. Who chose to love Law, even if it could cost him his life. Who chose to love Law, even when Law gave him nothing but violence back. 

Law knew Cora had a bit of a temper, but he didn’t think it was enough to be _ afraid _ of. 

Plenty of doctors in North Blue would disagree. It seemed Aokiji did too. He lifted up his sleeping mask to meet Law’s eyes. 

“Kid, what do you think the odds are the Navy sent someone completely inexperienced in espionage to infiltrate the Donquixote Pirates?” Aokiji asked. 

It was a stupid question. “None,” Law said. Cora told him that much. 

Aokiji nodded. “You’re right. But the _ only _ other thing on Captain Rosinante’s official record is eight years’ service as a sniper.” 

Law frowned. He wasn’t sure what that meant. Aokiji went on. 

“Your old man’s done things even an _ Admiral _ doesn’t have the clearance to know,” Aokiji said, settling the sleeping mask back over his eyes. “I’m not fucking with someone like that. It’s a good way to wind up dead.” 

Some part of Law realized that Aokiji had a point. But it was _ Cora_. Law couldn’t see him as someone to be afraid of. 

But maybe he was the exception, rather than the rule. 

Bepo shuffled his feet, one of his _ many _ nervous habits. “Um, are we going to sleep?” he asked Law. 

Law wasn’t sure why he liked Bepo so much. On the surface, he was meek and nervous, shying away from everyone and everything. A personality like that should have gotten under Law’s skin and driven him crazy. For some reason, it didn’t. Law was glad. That meant he got to discover Bepo had a surprisingly sharp temper, even if he did immediately apologize for it. He was also impressively strong, which Law learned after _ finally _ goading him into a fight. He didn’t use his claws or his teeth, but a martial arts that Law had never seen before. 

Bepo was also incredibly soft, but Law would deny that was a reason he liked him. He was fairly sure that Cora, the smug bastard that he was, already figured that out. 

“I’m gonna grab a few things, then we’re heading back to Wolf’s,” Law announced. Bepo grinned (as much as a bear _ could _ grin), and Aokiji offered him a lazy thumbs up. 

“I’ll find an inn tomorrow,” Aokiji said. “Give you back your house.” 

Law snorted. “Good luck finding a bed that fits.” 

He trotted up the stairs, ignoring the way his knees twinged. 

At first Law thought the persistent aches and pains in his body were a side-effect of his long fever, overusing his Devil Fruit, or both. The pain wasn’t anywhere near as bad as the Amber Lead was, in the end, so he’d written it off. But it wasn’t going away. It hadn’t been hard to figure out why. 

His Devil Fruit gave him an impossible awareness of everything within the rooms he made. 

Amber Lead Poisoning had done permanent damage to his body. 

It wasn’t something any doctor would be able to undo. But then again, no doctor had the Op-Op Fruit. No doctor but Law. If he learned enough, practiced enough with his new power, he might be able to do _ something_. He wasn’t afraid of experimenting on himself. He was, after all, the only viable test subject.

He didn’t want to spend every day in pain, but he was prepared to. At least he was alive. 

No one else from Flevance could say that. 

Maybe the pain was some sort of divine punishment, for what he did after Flevance fell. Maybe it was penance, for living when no one else did. Maybe it was the cost of the life he didn’t deserve.

Cora would be sad, if he found Law thinking that way. But Law had no intention of ever telling him. 

He almost cost Cora his life too. 

He almost cost Cora his _ life_, but he was still too much of a coward to tell Cora everything he was to him. Everything he _ meant _ to him. 

Every time he tried, the words stuck in his throat. They did it on Minion Island. They did it when Cora left for the trial too.

Law slunk back down the stairs, an overnight bag packed for him and Bepo slung over his shoulder, and a large medical encyclopedia balanced in his arms. It was one of the ones Sengoku gave him. It was heavy enough to bash someone’s skull in. Easily. 

That wasn’t _ quite _ what Law was planning, but it was close enough. 

Bepo was sitting by the stairs, blinking up at Law. Aokiji was in a deep sleep on the couch, his chest rising and falling slowly. Law watched him for a minute, making sure his descent hadn’t woken him. 

Aokiji started to snore lightly. 

Soundlessly, Law walked behind the couch arm Aokiji rested his head on. 

His head was tilted slightly towards the side. Some of his hair was caught in his mouth. 

Law raised the book as high as he could over Aokiji’s head. 

He dropped it. 

The book froze before it could crush Aokiji’s nose, ice crawling up its spine, sprouting from Aokiji’s fingers. His other hand came up to pull the sleeping mask off his face. 

The air in the room dropped at least ten degrees. 

“What the fuck, kid?” Aokiji asked, steam, or perhaps frost, hissing past his lips. 

Law leaned over him to snap the book off his hand. It was so covered in ice that there was no hope of thawing it without ruining it. Law didn’t mind too much. He already knew everything in it. He dropped the book next to the couch with a loud thump and met Aokij’s eyes impassively. 

“I figured something like that wouldn’t bother an Admiral.” He shrugged. “But I wanted to make sure.” 

Aokiji’s eyes narrowed. “Bullshit. You want me dead. I can _ feel _ it.” 

So he had Observation Haki, then, if Law was remembering what Cora told him right. He grinned down at Aokiji, sharp and cruel. 

“Wanting you dead doesn’t mean I was trying to kill you,” Law told him. “If I was trying to kill you, I would have cut you here,” he said, setting a hand on Aokiji’s throat, feeling his pulse. “The carotid artery is easy to find, if you understand anatomy. You’d bleed out quickly.” 

Law paused to consider. Aokiji’s pulse was steady. 

“It would be interesting to see _ how _ quick it would be, with how tall you are.” 

Aokiji huffed a laugh. Law took his hand back. 

“You’re one creepy fucking kid. You know that, right?” 

“Better not tell Cora that, if you’re so scared of him,” Law said, hitching his bag higher on his shoulder. He turned to Bepo, who watched the whole exchange carefully. “We’re leaving.” 

Bepo nodded and scrambled to his feet, rushing to Law’s side as he pushed open the front door. The night air was bitingly cold and calming. It would start snowing soon. Law could feel it. It would be best to make it to Wolf’s before the storm picked up. 

“Um, Law?” Bepo muttered, as they set off towards the woods. “What was that? Back there?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Law told him. Predictably, Bepo took it as an admonishment, ducking his head and wringing his paws. 

“Sorry.” 

It wouldn’t do any good to tell him to stop apologizing. Law already learned that the hard way. Instead, he stilled Bepo’s anxious paws by taking one of them in his hand. Bepo made a happy noise, low in his throat, and perked up. 

Law didn’t understand why Bepo liked him so much. It certainly wasn’t because he was _ nice_. Law wondered the same thing about Penguin and Shachi. They damn near celebrated every time Law came back to Wolf’s, and it wasn’t just because Law brought them more painkillers. They latched onto Law frighteningly quickly. And Law… Law hadn’t discouraged them as much as he should have. He didn’t know why. 

Cora thought it was a good thing, that Law was making friends. 

Law wasn’t sure that he _ deserved _ friends, after everything that had happened. Everything he’d done. Everything he was. 

He wasn’t sure he deserved Cora either. 

(In truth, he was sure he didn’t.)

But, he mused as Bepo started to hum happily, Bepo probably wouldn’t make it far without someone watching out for him. He was too quick to trust and too slow to defend himself. 

Penguin and Shachi were just as unlikely to survive, but _ they _ were too quick to fight. They didn’t know when to back down. Law figured it was some kind of miracle that they didn’t get themselves fatally injured sooner. 

Who the fuck tried to throw a bomb at a boar?

They were absolutely hopeless. All of them. 

But they probably deserved friends. Deserved to have someone looking out for them. 

It had started to snow. The snowflakes shone like glitter when they caught the moonlight. Bepo opened his mouth and tried to catch them on his tongue. 

Lami did the same thing, every winter. She would always drag Law into the yard with the first snow, keeping him outside until their fingers and toes went numb, and their chattering teeth got too loud. Law would pull her inside and set her feet in a tub of warm water by the fireplace. Then, he would kneel next to her, massaging her fingers and hands to help the circulation, trying to bring any warmth he could to her ever-cold hands. In his head, he would recite the prayers his mother taught him. The whole time Lami would chatter his ear off about what the snow looked like, what it felt like, how _ beautiful _ it was. As if Law wasn’t out there with her. As if so much if his joy didn’t come from Lami’s. She would always ask Law if they could play again in the morning. He always promised her that they could. He promised her they would play after she left the hospital, too.

Law kept a steady grip on Bepo’s paw, to make sure he didn’t slip. He tugged at Law’s hand. 

“You should do it too,” he said, words muffled by the tongue he left hanging out of his mouth. His big eyes were bright and happy. His button nose twitched when a snowflake landed on it.

Law should have refused. Instead, he tilted his head back and watched the snowflakes fall, felt them catch on his eyelids and melt on his cheeks. He felt the cold wind biting at his skin. Felt his heart, pounding in his chest. 

He was fourteen years old.

He was _ alive. _

Law stuck out his tongue. 

He figured he could look after Bepo. Penguin and Shachi, too.

Or, at the very least, he could try. 

✦✦✦

Penguin and Shachi were terrible patients. Two days after Law stitched them back together, they were trying to move around on their own. By two _ weeks _ Law needed to threaten them with his Devil Fruit so they would stay still long enough for him to change their bandages. At the start of the third week Law gave up and let them do what they wanted. In turn, they let Law poke at their wounds whenever he wanted to. 

Admittedly, Law was being a bit cautious. Penguin and Shachi were effectively healed. But Law wasn’t interested in seeing them keel over because of some complication he didn’t notice. 

It wasn’t because he liked them. It was only because he didn’t want his effort to go to waste. 

Law snorted at the thought. He grabbed the pen he was holding in his mouth and scribbled a quick note in the margin of the medical text he was reading. Bepo snored softly next to him. 

They, along with Penguin and Shachi, were sprawled across a thick blanket laid out in Wolf’s yard. They dragged it out there to enjoy the winter sunshine and a break in the cold weather. Penguin was whittling a piece of wood into an as-of-yet unidentified shape. Law suggested he take up some handcraft to be sure his right hand still worked as well as his left. He particularly enjoyed anything involving knives and, surprisingly, knitting. Bepo was using the first, wobbly scarf he made as an improvised pillow. The only real pillows they brought outside were piled up behind Shachi, in case he needed to lean back into them and take some tension off his abdomen. He seemed to be doing well, though, with his sleeves rolled up and his hands covered in grease as he tinkered with one of Wolf’s experiments. 

Law was spending most of his time up at Wolf’s. Aokiji kept his word and found an inn after the first night, but Law wasn’t interested in staying in the cottage. It didn’t feel right without Cora there. 

The one night Law tried sleeping there, his was kept awake by the silence, by the weight of Cora’s absence. 

Law hadn’t worried so much about another person in a long time. After Flevance, he didn’t _ care _ about anyone, really. But Cora changed that. Cora made Law care, and now he was being eaten alive by worry. 

Aokiji’s brief updates weren’t enough. He wanted to _ talk _ to Cora, to hear his voice just to know he was really alright. But apparently, the Navy decided that was too risky. 

So Law had to live in the dark, waiting to hear what was happening. 

Would they even tell him if something went wrong?

Would he know it if Doflamingo went after Cora again?

A large gust of wind blew by, ruffling Law’s hair and the pages of his book. It snapped him out of his spiralling thoughts.

A chorus of bird song rose over the trees around them. It was enough to wake Bepo, and he rolled over onto his stomach with a yawn. As Law wrestled his way back to the page he was on, Penguin set his whittling and knife aside. He cupped his hands over his mouth strangely. 

Then he whistled a bright, warbling note. A perfect imitation of the birdsong. 

After a moment, a bird sang back- three long, sliding notes. Penguin matched them as easily as he did the last. 

He was answered by a sound Law never heard a bird make before, loud and hitching oddly. Penguin paused, dropping his hands down into his lap. 

“Can’t do that one, can you?” Shachi teased, a bright grin stretching across his face. 

“Oh, shut up,” Penguin said, without any heat. Then he wet his lips and took a deep breath. He tilted his head back and sang an almost operatic note, thumping on his chest to match the hitching sound the bird made. 

Silence followed. After a moment, Shachi broke it by giggling. 

“Even the birds get sick of you showing off!” 

Penguin picked up a chip of wood from his whittling and chucked it at Shachi’s head. Shachi dodged it with an exaggerated yelp, and Penguin laughed. He went to pick his whittling back up and caught Law’s curious stare. 

“I didn’t think you’d be able to sing like that,” Law said. Bepo hummed in agreement. 

Penguin shrugged, ducking his head so the brim of his hat covered his eyes. 

“He’s from a family of keeners,” Shachi explained, reaching deep in contraption he was working on. “He’s worse than any of them were.” 

“Rude,” Penguin hissed, throwing another bit of wood at Shachi. This one pegged him between the eyes. 

Law ignored the fact that Shachi said ‘_were_’ and the way his and Penguin’s shoulders tensed. Instead he asked, “Keeners?”

“Funeral singers,” Penguin explained. “Mourners. Do they… Do they not do that, where you’re from?” 

Law fought the urge to wince. He only attended one funeral on Flevance, for his grandmother. The church it took place in was crowded, the air heavy with the smells of incense and burnt offerings laid before her urn. It was the first time Law saw his mother cry. 

He shook his head. “It was mostly spoken prayers, I think,” he said. His voice was tight, choked with something heavy. 

No one said anything about it, or the way Law ducked his head to blink away any tears gathering in his eyes. 

Bepo shuffled closer to Law, so their arms brushed. Law leaned into him, just the slightest bit. 

“What are you making anyway?” Shachi asked, shifting the topic and nodding towards Penguin’s whittling. 

“A penguin,” he said dryly, not looking up from the wood. Shachi snorted. 

“You didn’t strike me as the self-absorbed type,” Law teased, grinning sharply. 

Penguin clutched at his heart and gasped. “You _ wound _ me!” he cried. “But really, I figured they’re a pretty simple shape, and I like them, so why not?” 

“You could do a seagull instead,” Shachi said. For some reason, that made Penguin drop his whittling to point at him with the knife. 

“I am not having this argument with you again.” 

“Oh, come _ on_,” Shachi groaned. “He’s a part of the team!” 

“He’s a mascot at best and a nuisance at worst,” Penguin hissed. 

“Fuck you! He’s a friend!” 

“Um,” Bepo cut in, sitting up and blinking curiously at Penguin and Shachi. “Sorry, but what is it you talk about?”

Bepo’s Northern was a bit awkward, but he spoke Northern better than Penguin and Shachi spoke Grand, which was not at all. 

“The greatest intellectual debate of our generation,” Shachi said, overly serious. 

Bepo blinked at him, and Penguin groaned. 

“We’re talking about a comic,” he said. When Bepo shifted awkwardly and apologized, he looked to Law, a bit helplessly. 

“_A comic strip_,” Law translated, and Bepo perked up a bit. “_From the newspapers_.”

Bepo’s ears twitched. “Oh! The pictures, yes?” 

“Exactly,” Penguin said, smiling warmly at Bepo. 

“You got it,” Shachi added, reaching out to lightly punch Bepo’s arm. 

“Which comic?” Law asked, before Bepo could get overwhelmed by being the center of attention. 

“Ok, so, don’t judge us,” Shachi said, which was _ always _ a good way to start a sentence. 

“No promises,” Law told him honestly. Penguin snorted. 

“Sora, Warrior of the Sea,” he said. “Shachi thinks the pet seagull in it actually matters to the plot.”

Law tilted his head. “Well… doesn’t that depend on whether or not you think comic relief is plot relevant?” 

Penguin and Shachi gaped at him. Warmth bloomed across Law’s face. He fought the urge to curl into himself. 

“What?” he snarled. Penguin and Shachi shared a brief look, before turning back to Law. They were wearing matching grins. 

“What’s your favorite arc?” Shachi asked. 

“The one with the sea kings,” Law said. Shachi nodded in approval. 

“Thoughts on Red’s death?” Penguin asked, whittling entirely abandoned. 

“It was absolutely bullshit,” Law told him, old annoyance bubbling up in him. 

“Fucking right?” Penguin cried, throwing his hands up dramatically. 

Shachi laughed. “Ok, so you’re clearly a man of taste,” he said, and Law snorted. “You can be our tie-breaker. Thoughts on the seagull?”

It was a childish conversation, and Law knew it. A silly thing to be so invested in. But it was _ easy_, too. Easy in the same way talking with Cora could be, when he told his ridiculous jokes and stared at Law, expecting him to laugh. It was _ light_, and it threw Law a bit off-balance, but he didn’t mind the feeling. Instead, he leaned into it. He took a moment to consider Shachi’s question.

“I mean… it’s hard to have an opinion when he doesn’t really _ do _ anything.”

“Thank you!” Penguin shouted. Shachi threw his head back and groaned. 

Penguin gleefully flipped Shachi off. Shachi launched himself at Penguin with a shout, drawing him into a gentle wrestling match. They were careful with each other’s injuries, even as they tried to push each other’s faces into the mud. 

Law found himself laughing. It was a ridiculous thing to be fighting about, even playfully. A ridiculous thing to be taking so seriously. It was nice, he realized, as he watched Penguin catch Shachi in a choke-hold with his good arm, and Shachi rub his grease-stained hands on Penguin’s face. For a moment, he could think about something other than Cora’s safety. Could feel something other than worry. 

He wondered if this was what having friends felt like. 

✦✦✦

Vergo was sentenced to Impel Down. 

Three other spies went down with him. There wasn’t any evidence of any more. 

(Doflamingo always liked the number four.) 

It was the ideal outcome. Rosinante should have been pleased. He should have been _ relieved_. A part of him was, but another part was more worried than ever. 

During the trial Vergo didn’t mention Rosinante taking off with Law six months before the disaster of Minion Island, even after he was read the official incident report. He didn’t tell them Rosinante took the Op-Op Fruit before the Marines _ or _ the Donquixote Pirates could. He didn’t say that Law ate it. 

Instead, he looked Rosinante dead in the eye, and promised him that some day, Joker would have his Heart back. 

Rosinante wasn’t stupid enough to think Vergo meant either of them. 

He wished, desperately, that he was. Wished he could believe Doflamingo was coming after him alone, to finish off another family member who betrayed him. He knew what Doflamingo did to traitors. He got off easy, on Minion, only being shot. Doflamingo was too furious to draw Rosinante’s death out. 

Rosinante was prepared to be caught the entire time he was with the Donquixote Pirates. He was prepared to be tortured. To be killed. To have his head strung up like a prize. The thought didn’t bother him too much anymore. He had years to get used to it. 

Thinking about what Doflamingo would do to Law made bile rise in Rosinante’s throat. 

Brilliant, furious, _ defiant _ little Law. He wouldn’t break easily. He was too stubborn to. Doflamingo would have to hollow him out. Would have to make him into nothing more than a puppet. 

(Dull-eyed and listless. Limp head rolling onto his shoulder. Mouth sewn shut after Doflamingo got bored of the _ screaming_-)

A sharp chill ran down Rosinante’s spine. He shook himself, trying to lose the thoughts, lose the _ images_, and lit a cigarette. He hoped it would quell the nausea rolling his stomach. He tipped his head back against the wall of Sengoku’s office and tucked his legs up to his chest. 

He left the trial as soon as the sentencing was over, retreating to the familiar comfort of Sengoku’s office. Hours passed since then. The sun had set, slowly blanketing the room with night. Rosinante didn’t bother to turn on the lights, and now the faint glow of his cigarette was the only light to see by.

It had been a month since he left Swallow Island. It was going to take him damn near another month to get back. It would be risky to settle there. But it was the kind of risk Doflamingo would never expect Rosinante to take. 

Rosinante took a deep drag from his cigarette and dropped his head against his knees. His hands were shaking. There were no good options. Not really.

Law was an impressive fighter, for someone his size, and there was no doubt he would find creative ways to use his Devil Fruit. But he needed to be stronger to stand a chance if Doflamingo came after him again, and Rosinante wasn’t there to protect him. 

He was ready to die to protect Law back on Minion. 

He wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

The office door creaked open. Rosinante didn’t look up. He recognized the sound of Sengoku’s footsteps. The door closed again, and a moment later Sengoku sat next to him, grunting softly. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Rosinante teased, his voice a bit weak. 

Sengoku snorted. “I’m hardly that old.” 

Rosinante only hummed in response, and sat up, tilting his head onto Sengoku’s strong shoulder. He took another drag from his cigarette. Sengoku didn’t acknowledge it, or the overflowing ashtray at Rosinante’s side. Instead, he shifted to wrap an arm around Rosinante. 

“A ship will be ready to bring you back to North Blue in the morning,” he said, his voice a low, comforting rumble. 

There wasn’t anything else that needed to be said, so Rosinante nodded. He took a final drag before grinding his cigarette out and closing his eyes. He settled into Sengoku’s hold, listening to the sound of his steady breathing. 

Law was waiting for Rosinante on Swallow Island. They were both going to be safe. They were both going to be _ free_. 

Rosinante took a deep breath. He held it for a moment, and when he let it go some of his fear slipped away with it. 

✦✦✦

Law’s hands were starting to go numb, but he barely noticed it. He was too focused on breathing steadily, watching his exhale fogging in the night air. He was too focused on remembering the tune Cora hummed whenever Law began to spiral away from himself. It was the second night in a row he couldn’t sleep. It was the second night in a row he snuck out of Wolf’s spare room to perch on his balcony. His legs fit easily between the rungs of the railing, free to kick out into the cold air. 

He was so tired he could cry. Instead, he rested his head against the railing and blinked fiercely. 

Missing someone was a wretched feeling. 

Wolf’s front door squeaked open below Law. A moment later, he heard Shachi’s voice. 

“I seriously can’t believe you’ve never made a snowman before!”

“I still do not know what this is?” Bepo whined as he and Shachi shuffled out from under the porch, and into the yard’s fresh snowfall. 

They didn’t seem to notice Law. He could have called out to them, but he was too tired. 

“Come on,” Shachi laughed, “it’s a, uh, a thing you make out of snow, you know?” He made a circle with his arms, which only seemed to confuse Bepo more. 

“I’m sorry,” Bepo said, ducking his head. His Northern was always best when he was apologizing. 

“Hey, no,” Shachi told him. “I’m the one who can’t explain things right, ok? Come on, I’m gonna show you.” He knelt down in the snow, starting to gather some together.

“You are sure?” Bepo asked, his voice a bit shaky. 

“Of course I’m sure! This is way more fun to do with a friend.”

Law couldn’t hear how Bepo responded to that, but he joined Shachi in gathering snow. They had a small ball before long, and Shachi started rolling it further out into the yard. Law leaned away from the rail, and rubbed at his bleary eyes. 

Something warm settled around him. He snapped his eyes open to find a blanket draped across his shoulders, and Penguin sitting down next to him. He stuck his legs between the rungs just like Law had, and watched Shachi and Bepo out in the yard, a soft smile on his face. 

After a minute, he spoke.

“Mine and Shachi’s moms were best friends,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve never… I’ve never really known life without him. It feels like I’ve been looking out for him since he was born.” 

Law hummed softly, unsure where Penguin was going. Unsure if he was really talking to Law, or the night air instead. 

“I’ve fucked it up a lot.” Penguin’s voice cracked. “I almost got him killed.” He took a sharp breath, and pressed his head against the rail. 

Discomfort clawed at Law, and he tried not to squirm. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do if Penguin started _ crying_. That wasn’t something Law knew how to handle. 

Penguin cleared his throat roughly. He still hadn’t looked at Law. 

“I just… I needed to thank you. For saving him when I- I couldn't.” 

“What point is there in blaming yourself? He probably feels just as guilty,” Law said, before his brain could catch up with his mouth. He winced, and looked away from Penguin. 

There was no sound except Shachi and Bepo’s faint laughter. 

_ Fuck it_, Law figured, and took a breath. 

“Whatever happened _ happened_. Maybe you fucked up, maybe you didn’t. Either way, it’s never going to change. Life is just _ like _ that.” 

Law laughed, a bit bitterly. He was so, _ so tired_.

“...You did the best that you could, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Penguin breathed. 

Law shrugged, and tipped his head back towards the sky. The moon was full and hanging so low it felt close enough to touch. Was Cora looking up at it too? Law wound his hands into the blanket Penguin brought him, pulling it tight around himself. 

“That’s what matters, isn’t it?” Law mused, half to himself. “That _has_ to be what matters, I think.” 

It felt like something Cora would say. It felt like something Law’s mother might have said, too.

Law’s heart was heavy. He tried to shrug the feeling away, but it stuck, even as he turned to look back at Penguin. 

Penguin _ was _ crying. He didn’t turn away from Law, even as he dried his face with the heel of his palm. He took a shuddering breath and nodded. Then he grabbed the top of the railing and dragged himself to his feet. 

For a moment, he watched Shachi in the yard. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth. 

“Hey, Shachi!” he bellowed, and Law flinched away from the sound. Shachi and Bepo looked up from where they were balancing their second massive snowball on top of their first. 

“Yeah?” Shachi howled back. 

Penguin pointed sharply at Law. “I’ve decided! We’re sticking with this little bastard from here on out!” 

Law’s mouth dropped open. 

“I thought we already were!” Shachi called. “Bepo too, right?” 

“Obviously!” 

Shachi whooped happily, and Penguin laughed, dropping back down next to Law. 

Law snapped his mouth shut and glared at him. “You don’t- you don’t even _ know me_,” he hissed. “You don’t know anything about me!” 

Penguin scoffed and dropped his arm across Law’s shoulders. Law elbowed him in the gut before he even registered the touch. Penguin fell back on the floor, wheezing. Law stared down at him, heart pounding, as Penguin started to laugh breathlessly. 

“I think I know enough,” he said, his voice a bit thin. 

“You really don’t.” 

Penguin dragged himself to his feet with a small groan. He looked down into the yard and grinned. 

“I _ really _ think I do.” He held his hand out to Law. “Come on. I bet they can get that snowman way bigger if we help.”

Later, Law would blame the exhaustion for the easy way he took Penguin’s hand. 

They spent hours out in the cold, turning the snowman into a snow_ bear_\- building it up to four times Bepo’s size. It probably would have gotten bigger, if Shachi didn’t take the chance to introduce Bepo to snowball fights too. 

Law didn’t regret it. 

Not even the next morning, when he was so tired and sore he could barely think. He didn’t need to think to find his way from Wolf’s house to the cottage, and he could still feel an ache in his stomach from laughing the night before. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so much his stomach hurt. He savored the feeling, until he turned a corner and faced the cottage door. 

Aokiji was leaned against it. Law went still at the sight of him, and he looked up, offering Law a lazy wave. It had been a week since Law last saw him. It had _ also _ been a week since Law cut three of his fingers off. 

The fingers grew back from ice. Law couldn’t decide if that was disappointing or fascinating. 

He shouldn’t have looked away from Aokiji. He realized that when he had to scramble to catch whatever Aokiji tossed at him with a low whistle. 

It was a baby den-den mushi. One that looked fairly upset about being thrown. Law blinked down at it, then sneered at Aokiji. 

“Might want to take that call inside,” Aokiji said, rapping his knuckles on the cottage door. 

Law was too tired to hiss something back at him. He opened the door, slipping inside and brutally kicking Aokiji’s shin before closing it. It didn’t quite block out the sound of Aokiji swearing. Law grinned, then nearly dropped the den-den mushi when it started ringing. He scrambled up onto the couch and picked up the receiver. 

“Hello?” 

“Law?” 

Law blinked. It took him a moment to process what he was hearing. 

“Law? Are you there?” 

“Cora?” Law breathed, his voice shaking. 

“Law!” The den-den mushi grinned, its eyes watering like it was about to cry. Like _ Cora _ was about to cry. Law’s throat tightened. His eyes stung. 

“I can’t talk for long,” Cora told him, “I shouldn’t be calling at all.”

Law took a deep breath. If there wasn’t much time to talk… 

He thought about the treasure chest on Minion Island. About Cora’s stupid grin and teary eyes. 

“A week and a half, Law._ ” _

The words stuck in his throat, then. 

“I’ll be back in a week and a half.” 

They didn’t this time. 

“I love you too.” 

There was silence. Law took another shaking breath, and swallowed hard. 

“I love you too, Cora.” 

The den-den mushi started bawling. 

“L-Law!” Cora hiccuped. A mortified blush burned across Law’s face.

“Don’t fucking cry about it!” he snarled and, before he realized what he was doing, he slammed the receiver down. The den-den mushi immediately fell asleep. 

For a moment, Law blinked at it. Then he buried his face in his hands and fought the urge to scream into them. It took a few minutes for the overwhelming embarrassment to leave him. When it did, he dropped back onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling. 

He took a deep breath in, and exhaled as long as he could. He did it again, and again. Grounding himself the way Cora taught him. He let his eyes drift shut.

Cora was coming back. 

Cora was coming _ home_. 

Law fell asleep easily, after that thought. 

✦✦✦

Rosinante took a deep breath, cigarette smoke and cold air mixing in his lungs. He leaned on the rail of the ship bringing him back to Law, and watched Swallow Island quickly come into view. The port town’s houses were blanketed with snow. It was nearly blinding in the sunlight. 

Flevance must have been too brilliant to look at, on bright winter mornings. 

He wondered if Law found the snow comforting or haunting. 

The ship docked quickly. Marines hustled to do their jobs as Rosinante made his way down the gangplank. He only slipped twice. He even managed to catch his balance the second time before he toppled over completely. The North Blue cold was making his knees act up, catching in the way they always did when the temperature was low enough for his breath to fog the air. But he would get used to it, the way he always did. 

Aokiji was waiting for him on the dock. His posture was relaxed, and there was an ever-bored look on his face. 

“Any trouble?” Rosinante asked him, once they stood toe-to-toe. 

Aokiji shook his head. “None from Doflamingo. And the kid only really attacked me three times.” 

Rosinante fought down a wince. Three attacks in a little over two months was admittedly less than Rosinante was expecting, but still more than most people _ ever _ attacked an Admiral. 

“I feel like I should apologize.” 

“You did warn me,” Aokiji laughed. “Besides, he was treating it more like a test than a fight. But I might have lost a finger or two if I wasn’t made of ice.” 

Rosinante didn’t let it show on his face how proud that made him. Admiral status aside, Logias were difficult to fight. Law was learning early. Rosinante could, and would, teach him a few tricks. It probably wasn’t too soon to get him started on Haki, either. 

“How’d the trial go?” 

Rosinante grinned, sharp and unkind. “Impel Down. All four of them.” 

“Well, thanks for giving me an excuse to stay away from that shitshow,” Aokiji snorted, giving Rosinante’s shoulder a friendly pat. “Good luck with your kid.”

“Thanks. I just might need it,” Rosinante hummed. 

Aokiji laughed. The sound of it drifted after him as he boarded the ship and Rosinante set off for the cottage. 

He didn’t make it that far. 

“Cora!” 

Law rounded a corner and skidded to a halt in front of him, his chest heaving, his face flushed. His eyes were fixed on Rosinante’s, shining gold in the sunlight. 

He looked healthy. He looked _ alive_. 

He looked more _ himself _ than Rosinante had ever seen. 

In an instant, Rosinante grabbed him, lifting him off his feet and into a hug. Law didn’t complain about it. He only latched his arms around Rosinante’s neck, clinging tightly, pressing himself as close to Rosinante as he could. 

He could feel Law’s heartbeat. He was certain Law could feel his too.

“Impel Down,” Rosinante whispered. 

Law’s grip tightened. 

He knew as well as Rosinante did that this wasn’t the end of it. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth celebrating. 

Law’s cold nose pressed against Rosinante’s neck as he walked them back to the cottage. Surprisingly, Law allowed himself to be carried. He only shifted to get more comfortable in Rosinante’s hold. 

“You made it home,” Law said.

Home was something Rosinante struggled with for the longest time. At first, home was Mary Geosise, isolated and beautiful. Then home was where his family was together. But that died. That burned. That was ripped apart in front of him. Had its head hacked off as a trophy. There was nothing for a long time after that. It took Rosinante _ years _ to feel at home with Sengoku. To trust that he could wake up every morning and know that Sengoku and his life would both still be there. 

Maybe home could be Swallow Island and its strange cottage. Maybe home could be a sharp-tongued son and whatever friends he made for himself. 

He thought about the call he snuck on the ship back. About Law, blunt and single-minded as ever, ignoring everything Rosinante was saying to tell him he loved him. 

Rosinante smiled so widely his cheeks ached. 

“I made it home.” 

Law looked up and caught Rosinante’s grin. His lip curled, but his face flushed. 

“Stop being so _ sappy_,” he hissed, smacking his hands onto Rosinante’s face and shoving it as far away from his own as possible. 

Rosinante threw his head back in a laugh, and quickly over balanced, dropping himself and Law down onto the cobblestone street. His back would have an impressive bruise the next day, but that hardly mattered when Law was laughing wildly. Even if he pounded on Rosinante’s chest and called him an idiot while he did. 

Law scrambled to his feet first, stepping on Rosinante’s shoulder none too gently as he got behind him. Then he was pushing Rosinante upright, and helping him to his feet as best as he could. As soon as Rosinante was up, Law spun away, marching towards the cottage and pulling his hat over his ears. 

Rosinante couldn’t help but laugh again, joy bubbling up in him so easily. 

Vergo was gone. Doflamingo would be occupied for a while cleaning up the mess losing his spies would cause. It would likely set back any plans he had for himself _ and _ for Law. 

Rosinante walked away from Doflamingo alive. _ Law _ walked away from Doflamingo alive. Free from the Amber Lead. Free from his need to burn the world for what it took from him. 

Free to live as he wanted to.

“_Don’t rush too far ahead, _” Rosinante called. 

Law turned around to flip him off, a brilliant grin splashed across his face. 

Rosinante knew things wouldn’t be perfect. He knew things wouldn’t always be _ easy_. But he and Law had all the time in the world. 

Rosinante intended to make the most of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I was doing chapter summaries on this fic, the first part of this one would have basically been:
> 
> \- law, dropping a heavy fucking book on aokiji’s head unprompted, trying to see if he’ll stop it or wind up severely concussed at minimum: I’m testing to see if you’re any good at your job
> 
> \- aokiji, being woken up by a 14 year old trying to assassinate him with a medical textbook half his size: what the actual fuck is wrong with you
> 
> But in all seriousness, thank you all so much for reading this mess. It's the biggest writing project I've ever undertaken, and I'm honestly really proud of myself for finishing it. Thank you for the feedback and response to it <3
> 
> (Part two of this fic is going to be called Growing Pains. It will focus on Law and his friends starting their Crime Time, and Rosinante making sure that if his son is going to be a pirate, he's going to be a damn good one who won't get caught.)

**Author's Note:**

> If you couldn't tell, I'm a big fan of the idea of multiple languages existing in the One Piece universe. I hope the languages are clear from context. The italics show a different language than the one being spoken in the scene, which will usually wind up being Flevean and Northern for Rosinante and Law.
> 
> All of the chapters for this fic are written, but I'm not sure what the posting schedule will be. I also a have a few other fics in this verse finished and in progress. I'll probably post those as they get written. 
> 
> If you want to, hit me up on tumblr at sweetscentences! I'll be tagging posts related to this as small-changes-fic
> 
> Thank you so much for reading <3


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